Unrealized Peacekeeper
by OneEye the DRD
Summary: AU: In the fourth season episode "Unrealized Reality", we saw an alternate John Crichton who became a Peacekeeper captain. This is the story of how that might have happened.... Work In Progress
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: **The following story was born from a single scene in the 4th season _Farscape_ episode, "Unrealized Reality"; those of you who have seen the episode will probably recognize which scene almost immediately. For those of you who HAVEN'T seen the episode, the prologue could be considered a spoiler for the scene in question, and maybe for the episode as a whole.

I got to thinking about that scene after watching the episode, and wondering what small change might have happened to lead John Crichton down that road, to become that man. The answer I ended up with was simple: the wormhole that brought him to the UTs deposited him about ten feet to the right of his original exit point. That's all.

**

* * *

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**Unrealized Peacekeeper  
by OneEye  
**

**Prologue - After  
**  
He gazes down at the woman's body, breathing heavily as the shock and adrenaline wear off. The cuts on his cheek sting, and the echoes of pulse fire and shattering glass still ring in his ears. _Damn_, he thinks to himself, _she was a spy after all. Boy, did she have me fooled_.

The pulse pistol weighs heavily on his arm, hanging loosely at his side. Even after all these cycles, he still doesn't like this part of what his life has become. Killing. Death. And yet, in this instance, he feels a small smile creep over his features. _Take that, you bastards. One point for the good guys._

A small sound at his feet brings his mind back to duty, and he looks away from the dead Kalish. "Braca!" he exclaims, kneeling down at the side of his loyal officer. The man had placed his body between him and the spy when she shot at him; an ugly wound seeps blood across his uniform as Braca gasps for breath. He could call for a medic, but from the location of the injury, the captain knows nothing can be done.

The lieutenant grasps the captain's hand with his own. "--was ... worth it ... Captain," he gasps out, blood spattering his lips with each word. "You'll ... make 'em ... pay."

The captain bows his head in gratitude and grief. "It has been an honor serving with you, Lieutenant Braca." The man's eyes brighten for a moment at the words, then fade, one long rattling exhalation announcing his passing.

John Robert Crichton--human, scientist, astronaut, and now Peacekeeper captain--closes his eyes and inscribes yet another name onto the black memorial wall he's built inside his mind, to join the ranks of other friends, compatriots, lovers, and brothers-in-arms. Hundreds of names, by now. All of them brought down by the scourge of the known universe.

It's amazing to think that, as little as seven cycles ago, John Crichton had never even heard of the Scarrans.

TBC ...


	2. Ships Passing in the Night

**Episode 1 - ****Ships Passing in the Night**

_"My people might have helped you...." -- Aeryn Sun_

"I'm on another planet." He said the words, but the idea, the whole concept, just wasn't sinking in. This was all still so unreal. One minute he was zipping along in Earth orbit, playing the mad scientist, and the next he was sliding down the world's wildest roller coaster, floating in an asteroid field, dodging and nearly colliding with a bunch of mutant X-wing fighters, and getting swallowed by a huge, living space ship. Since then, he'd been choked, injected, spat on, knocked unconscious, stripped naked, and beaten up by a chick.

"Come on," said a voice from behind him. Speak of the devil. He turned and looked at the Peacekeeper woman, who was actually pretty attractive now that she wasn't sitting on his face. "I've relayed our rendezvous point. We can get off this wastehole of a planet." Okay, scratch that--she'd been damn attractive even when she _was_ sitting on his face.

With one last look back at the amazing city, bathed in the light of twin suns--"wastehole", perhaps, but still a pretty awesome sight--he followed after the woman.

Moments later, the distinctive hum of an engine drew their eyes upwards. A boxy-looking vessel lifted gently into the air from the nearby port area and flew over their heads.

"That's the Leviathan's pod," Officer Sun exclaimed. "They're getting away! Come on, we have to report it."

"Hey!" John objected, "aren't we about to be rescued any minute?" He grabbed at her arm to stop her headlong rush away. "I mean, they're no danger to us, right?"

The soldier looked at him like he was nuts. "They are prisoners. Escaped prisoners. They must be recaptured!" She watched him for a moment, waiting for something--perhaps agreement, or just some sign of comprehension--then clucked her tongue in disgust and stalked away.

John watched her for a moment, grumbling inside his head at the woman's one-track mind, but quickly set off after her. He'd made his choice, after the breakout, and he'd chosen her side. Nasty and violent as the situation had seemed from inside the Leviathan, the truth was that Officer Sun's people were the cops, for all intents and purposes, and the escapees were the criminals. So far, Ms. Sun had been nothing but a royal bitch, but at least she looked human. (Right, Johnnny-boy, his subconscious whispered, like your hormones didn't cast the deciding vote in that little debate....)

They reached her ship--called a "Prowler", he'd learned--and he listened while she made her report. Just as she was climbing down to the ground again, a squad of black-clad and helmeted soldiers marched up, led by a swarthy-skinned man with dark curly hair, mustache and close-cropped beard.

Officer Sun immediately sprang to attention. Crichton eased back into the shadow of the fighter, suddenly feeling nervous and slightly intimidated.

"Officer Sun," the man greeted formally, nodding his head sharply.

"Lieutenant Crais."

The lieutenant then stepped past her without another glance and walked up to Crichton. "And you, I am informed, were the pilot of the small white ship I nearly collided with during the battle?"

John just nodded, unable to form a coherent reply.

"What are your rank and regiment? And why are you out of uniform?"

This, John found, he could muster an answer for; he'd heard the question before. But before he could do more than open his mouth, Officer Sun piped up. "Sir, he claims to be a 'human', from a planet called 'Erp'."

John turned to look at her, mouthing 'Erp?', amused in spite of the tension. "And you are?" he asked, turning back to the lieutenant, trying to gain some sort of foothold in this conversation.

"Lieutenant Tauvo Crais, Verstar Regiment. You aren't Sebacean?"

"'Fraid not."

"Interesting." The man paused, and John could almost see him pondering the implications. Finally, he continued. "You'll have to come with us. Captain's orders." With that, he turned and marched away.

John thought about objecting. The brusque, superior attitude of these people, and the scary stormtrooper vibe he was getting from the well-armed soldiers surrounding him, made him wonder if he'd actually be better off on his own. But then reality set in again. He was lost, alone, with no ship, no money, and no way home. Without help, he'd probably eat a bad mushroom or step on the wrong toes and be dead within a week.

He started to agree, but his momentary hesitation had already triggered a response. Two armored soldiers grabbed him, one by each arm, and half-dragged him after their departing lieutenant. He shrugged them off after a few steps and walked on his own, but they remained in close flanking positions all the way to their vessel.

**

* * *

**

The ride up to the Peacekeeper ship was mostly uneventful. John found himself essentially ignored by everyone, though he was sure that would change instantly if he gave in to his curiosity and tried to touch any of the thousand things that caught his eye. Where the Leviathan corridors had been smooth, spacious, and organic, the Marauder was reminiscent of riding in a submarine, with cramped conditions and minimal attention to aesthetics.

The Vigilante, once they arrived, was a slight improvement; he could walk upright and not feel like he was about to smash into an overhead conduit every ten feet. He continued to be blatantly ignored by everyone, and yet he somehow found himself herded swiftly and efficiently to the command deck.

"Report!" Lt. Crais barked as they entered.

"Sir, the Leviathan has broken out of orbit and is fleeing. We are in pursuit, and will overtake them within five hundred microts."

"Weapons officer, ready the immobilizer pulse cannon. Inform me when we are within optimum range."

John could see the silhouette of the other ship on the display screen, moving away. He couldn't quite decide what outcome he was hoping for. True, the beings on that ship were prisoners. Criminals. The big one, with the tentacles, certainly seemed violent and hostile. But the other two? Well, the little greenish one, the one who called himself "Rygel XVI", had claimed to be a deposed ruler of some type. So he was either a political prisoner, or a delusional nut case with a Napoleon complex. Probably the latter, but certainly not very dangerous. And the blue woman had been civil to him, as much as the situation seemed to allow. She had calmed the other two's tempers when things seemed about to turn nasty, and had given Officer Sun no more than a reproachful look for attempting to conceal a fork in her sleeve. For her sake, at least, he almost hoped they managed to escape.

For purely selfish reasons, of course, he wanted that ship caught. The _Farscape_ module was still aboard, containing just about every possession he now had to his name. It was mostly just some extra clothing, which he'd packed along in case he was stuck in orbit on the shuttle for a while due to weather delays at the landing site or something. But the module herself had some potentially useful items among her instruments. Without that ship, all he had were the clothes on his back and his father's puzzle ring, still hanging from a chain around his neck.

As the minutes passed, the image on the screen grew larger. "Approaching optimum range, sir," called a woman standing at a workstation nearby.

"Prepare to fire on my command," Crais replied.

Suddenly, there was something that looked like a puff of smoke or dust from the rear of the Leviathan. The cloud spread quickly, obscuring the view of their quarry.

"Sir!" called another officer from across the room, "The Leviathan has ejected a great deal of debris into our flight path, blocking our weapons."

"What kind of debris?" asked the lieutenant, marching over to look at the readings himself.

"It appears that the ship allowed an explosive decompression of its landing and maintenance bays. The field includes everything from small tools and spare parts up to entire transport pods. Sir, the prisoners could have concealed explosive devices within the debris; such devices could cause severe damage to this vessel if we don't move to avoid the field."

"How long until the Leviathan will be able to starburst again?"

"I estimate less than a quarter of an arn, sir."

"Frell," the dark man muttered. He paused, gazing at the screen and the rapidly approaching cloud of junk. Finally, he shook his head. "No, it's not worth risking the ship just to catch them now. Helm, evasive maneuvers; take us around the debris field. We'll continue the pursuit and hope your estimate of the Leviathan's recuperative ability was over-generous. If it wasn't, there will be other opportunities to recapture them later."

As the ship swerved to avoid the debris, John caught a flash of white from inside the cloud. It was only for an instant and then gone. He started to open his mouth, but the glare from the soldier at his side made him swallow the words before they were spoken.

Several more minutes of silent pursuit went by, ending only when the flash of bright light announced that the prey had slipped the noose.

There was a tense silence on the bridge, but then the lieutenant simply said, "Set a return course to the carrier, best speed."

"Lieutenant?" John risked speaking at last. The look he got in return was one of surprise. Crais had apparently forgotten about this strange not-alien alien during the chase. He simply raised an eyebrow, inviting the man to speak further.

"When we passed the debris field earlier, I think I saw my module. Would it be possible to retrieve it before we leave?"

"Why?" Crais asked.

John paused. Simply saying 'because I want it' would likely not get him far with this crowd. Crais wanted to know what was in it for him. "Because it may help provide some of the answers to the questions you said your captain wanted to pose." Bullshit, but very plausible bullshit. The module hadn't been set up to take the kinds of readings he'd need to figure out what had happened to him. All the observations and readings were being made by the _Collaroy,_ or by DK in mission control. But this guy didn't need to know that, and if a little white lie would get him the _Farscape_ back, he'd do what it took.

The Peacekeeper seemed to consider that for a moment, then instructed his helmsman to redirect their course back to the debris field.

**

* * *

**

When he'd first caught sight of the Leviathan, Crichton had been awestruck at the size of the vessel. The command carrier, when they finally arrived, blew his mind. It was a city in space, miles long. The rest of the convoy, which included several other Leviathans, looked like a school of minnows trailing a great white shark. John's Earth-based sense of scale, where whales were big critters and the International Space Station, which would someday be almost 400 feet in length, would be the largest man-made object in space, was going to need some readjustment.

It was a longer march this time, from the landing bay to their destination, and they were joined once again by Officer Sun, who had flown as part of the Prowler squadron flanking the Vigilante during the pursuit. They arrived, after dozens of turns and identical-looking corridors, outside a double door with a circular window cut into the center.

Lieutenant Crais strode through the doors and into the room beyond without knocking or otherwise requesting entry. Officer Sun and the guards hung back, staying in the corridor, so John followed their lead. The doors remained open.

"Lieutenant Tauvo Crais, reporting as ordered, Captain," the man said in a jaunty, almost jovial voice that didn't really fit with the formality of the words.

The man seated at the desk just inside the doors looked up. For just a second, his expression was animated, a mixture of annoyance and affection. Once he spotted the group still standing outside, however, he schooled his face immediately into a picture of stern authority.

"Report, Lieutenant," he said.

"We successfully recovered Officer Sun, the prowler pilot who was pulled along when the Leviathan starburst, and the pilot of the small white pod which appeared during the battle, as you ordered. We also managed to procure his pod for analysis."

"But you failed to recapture the prisoners."

"Yes, sir. The ship went into starburst again before we could achieve optimum firing range for the immobilizer pulse."

"I see," the captain growled, clearly put out by the failure. "Well, then, we will begin posting wanted beacons at nearby commerce planets. Perhaps some bounty hunter will be able to succeed where you failed."

"Will that be all, sir?" Tauvo asked, subdued.

"No. Bring in the prowler pilot and ... the other one."

The lieutenant turned and gestured. Officer Sun walked in first, and John found himself shoved inside the room without so much as a by-your-leave.

"Hey!" he objected. The stress of the day's events was wearing down his patience. "Tell your goons to lay off the rough stuff, Captain. I'm a big boy and I can walk on my own."

The captain barely even glanced in his direction, and certainly did not acknowledge his complaint. "Officer Sun, make your report," he ordered instead.

The woman stood at stiff attention and recounted, in a toneless voice, how she'd been knocked out by the starburst and awoken in a cell aboard the Leviathan. Learned that her cell mate was not Sebacean, as he appeared. Escaped to the planet when the prisoners stopped for supplies. (She neglected to mention that it had been John who had procured the fork that effected their escape.)

As she finished retelling their meeting with Lt. Crais, he waved her silent. "That will be sufficient. Do you have any opinions regarding this ... alien? You have spent time with him."

"Sir, if you are concerned about contamination--" Officer Sun started nervously, only to be cut off.

"No, Officer Sun, I am not invoking contamination protocols. I am asking for your observations."

The woman glanced at John briefly before speaking. "Sir, he is primitive, ignorant, and undisciplined. I do not believe he is any threat to anyone."

John didn't know whether to be insulted at her unflattering assessment or grateful for what could have been a subtle effort to protect him. He had a feeling that being judged a threat by this man, this captain, could drastically shorten his life expectancy.

"Did he at any point mention how he happened to appear in the midst of our engagement with the Leviathan?"

She paused, reviewing her memory of the past solar day for the requested information. "Once, perhaps. He spoke of something called a 'rimhold'."

"That's 'wormhole', Ms. Sun, and could you folks please stop talking about me like I'm not here?" John was getting annoyed now.

Everyone else, however, acted as if he had not spoken. The captain's eyes never left the officer standing before him. He sat back, steepling his fingers for a moment in thought. "I did a brief review of your record after your capture, Officer Sun. I see that you just recently requested a transfer into a Marauder squadron."

"Yes, sir."

"Based on your resourcefulness in escaping your captors, and allowing that getting captured in the first place was not through any failure on your part, I am inclined to grant that request. Report to Senior Officer Jelko tomorrow morning for reassignment and training."

"Yes, sir!" Officer Sun's formerly impassive face finally broke into a stunning smile, quickly suppressed. John had no idea what had just happened, but she seemed happy about it. And that smile.... He had a feeling he'd remember that smile for a very long time.

"Dismissed," the captain said sharply, waving her out. Once the officer was gone, he finally turned and let his attention rest on Crichton. At a small gesture, the soldiers that still flanked him shoved him forward.

"Name," the captain ordered.

John felt like a trained poodle, being asked to bark on cue. "It's, um, John Crichton."

"Your vessel appeared on our scans during the battle, out of nowhere. Our readings indicate a low level of technology, no weapons or shields in evidence. Now, normally, something so primitive would be of no interest to us. I am curious, however, about these 'wormholes' you mentioned to Officer Sun. Is that how you were able to penetrate so close to our position without being detected?"

"Captain, to tell you the truth, I have no fricking clue. Where I come from, wormholes are only theoretical, but the theory would explain some of what I remember happening."

"And what would that be?"

"I was in orbit, performing an experiment on gravity-boosted acceleration. There was a radiation wave, a blue flash, and suddenly I'm tumbling through a long tunnel. Next thing I know, I'm floating in open space and getting buzzed by your Prowlers. I don't know where the hell I am or how the hell I got here."

"And you claim you are not Sebacean?"

"Nope, human. Though the resemblance is spooky, I'll admit."

The man behind the desk looked skeptical. He sat back and pressed his fingertips together once again. "I am familiar with this 'wormhole' phenomenon you mentioned; there are rumors of some secret research being done in an effort to harness their power as a weapon. One of my primary missions as commander of this force is to discover and develop new weapons technologies. Some of our recent efforts have been less than fruitful--"

"Hey, Captain Queeg, I don't give a shit about your 'weapons research'. All I want to do is go home."

"My name," the captain said in a dangerous whisper, "is Captain Bialar Crais." John looked over at the lieutenant still standing nearby. Suddenly the family resemblance was obvious. The captain continued, "You would do well to remember that. You should also remember that you are here on my sufferance. At the moment, you aren't worth the air we would waste to flush you out an airlock. You are, however, to my knowledge, the only being to have both created and traveled through a wormhole. Even if it was unintentional. If you could do it once, perhaps you can do it again. It seems probable that, in order to get home, you will have to recreate the feat."

"Yeah, so?" John was starting to feel trapped, his options fading fast as reality closed its jaws around him.

"This technology interests me. In order to further Peacekeeper research, I am considering allowing you to remain aboard, to assist our techs in researching the problem."

"Do I have a choice?"

Captain Crais actually smiled, and the expression was infinitely more disturbing than his previous impassive demeanor. "Yes, as a matter of fact, you do. You can accept my offer of technical and personnel resources towards your research into wormholes, or you can attempt to make your way home on your own, with nothing but a primitive vessel and no means of support."

Crichton felt the trap snap shut and its teeth bite deep. Damn it, the man was right. Without help, it would be hopeless. Even if he managed to survive, alone in a society he didn't yet comprehend, he'd have to work just to put food in his mouth. Theoretical physics in the basement in his spare time? It would take years. Decades. And he wanted to go home NOW. Tomorrow morning, at the latest. Dad must be freaking out.

So, feeling like he was making a deal with the devil himself, John nodded acceptance.

"Tauvo," Crais said, turning away from John, "take this Crichton down to medical and have them do a full bioscan. I will contact Chief Gelvis and have some techs assigned to the project."

**

* * *

**

The medical exam was an interesting, if humiliating, experience. Roddenberry was added to John's list of space theorists who had gotten it grossly wrong; the scans were invasive and often painful, with little evidence of fancy remote scanners or friendly nurses in short skirts.

The med techs had apparently not been told who or what they were examining. Their initial tests were conducted in the bored, perfunctory manner of people who have done the same task a million times. But as the results started to come back, they became puzzled, then concerned. Some of the more uncomfortable tests were performed a second time, and even a third, despite John's protests.

After what seemed like many hours and whole quarts of blood and other bodily fluids removed and examined, the med techs were huddled together around a computer console, muttering to each other. John lay back on the exam bed--though nothing that hard or cold deserved the name 'bed'--with his eyes closed, trying to regain his equilibrium. He wasn't sure if the strange dizzy feeling was the result of the repetitious examinations and multiple samples, or just the events of the past day finally catching up to him. Either way, it felt good to just lie still for a while and let the world flow past him.

"Report!" a voice barked, startling John out of his stupor. Lt. Crais was standing nearby, addressing the med techs. John hadn't even heard him come in again.

The techs looked at each other for a moment, then one stood and approached the officer. "Sir, the subject is not Sebacean, in spite of appearances. His internal structures are quite different, as are his metabolic functions. Our first thought was that he had been modified to appear Sebacean, but we found no evidence of genetic surgery or other modifications. This is apparently his species' natural form."

Tauvo just nodded and turned to Crichton. "It appears you were telling the truth. You'll have to tell me about your homeworld sometime; I'd be interested to hear what it's like. At the moment, however, you'd better come with me."

"Where to?" John asked, struggling to sit up. He was sore, and exhausted, and the dizziness had not completely faded.

"Captain's asked me to introduce you to the techs you've been assigned to before the end of the daywatch, and then show you to your quarters."

"Lieutenant," John said tentatively once they were in the corridor. The hallways were busy without being crowded, but no one paid them any attention. "Would it be all right if I asked you some questions?"

"What about?" Crais asked sharply. "You aren't cleared for any sensitive information--"

"No, no, nothing like that," John assured him. "I'm a bit out of my depth here. I know your species is called 'Sebacean', and you call yourselves 'Peacekeepers', but I don't have any frame of reference. Are you a military force serving as protection of some, well, federation or empire?"

Crais looked surprised; the concept of someone not knowing about the Peacekeepers was apparently foreign to him. "No, we do not serve any single governing body. We are an independent mercenary force, which many cultures hire to keep order, to protect them against aggressive neighbors, and to suppress internal dissention."

"Your captain seems real hot for newer, bigger, and better weapons. Sounds like an arms race to me, so I have to wonder, who're the black hats?"

"'Black hats'?" Tauvo asked, baffled at the untranslatable term.

"The evil empire. The Red Menace. The big bad wolf. You're preparing for a war, so who's the enemy?"

"Ah," Tauvo nodded, frowning. "You mean the Scarrans. They are the Peacekeepers' principal opposition, the biggest threat we face. Most Peacekeepers aren't aware of it, but the Scarrans outnumber us greatly. Our strong interest in weapons research is primarily an effort to counter that disadvantage."

"Hm," John said, noncommittally. The name meant nothing to him, and so failed to conjure up the horrors in his mind that Tauvo obviously saw. "You say most aren't aware of that; I'm assuming you learned of it from the captain?"

"Yes," Tauvo admitted. "Captain Crais is my brother."

"I kind of guessed that," John admitted, grinning.

Tauvo saw the friendly expression out of the corner of his eye and nearly responded in kind. The shadow of a smile flashed over his expression before he got himself under control again. Just in time, too, as such a lack of discipline would have been a poor example to show the corps of cadets that marched past them a moment later.

Crichton stared at the cadets as they passed, eyes wide. "You have _children_ aboard this ship?" he asked incredulously.

"Children? Those were senior cadets in their final cycle of training. Most will be full Peacekeepers within just a few monens."

"Wait, you start training as soldiers that young? They couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen years old!"

"Carrier-bred children begin training from the time they can walk. Those of us recruited from planets are usually brought in to begin training before they reach eight cycles, and have to work hard to catch up."

"You were planet-born? How old were you and your brother when you joined up?" Crichton seemed torn between curiosity and horror.

"Bialar was seven cycles, and I was five, when we were recruited for Peacekeeper service."

"'Recruited'? You weren't given a choice?"

"What 'choice'? It was an honor to be selected!" Tauvo insisted.

Crichton just shook his head. "If you say so, pal. Man," he sighed, looking around and changing the subject, "this place is a maze. I am _never_ gonna learn my way around."

This time Tauvo did smile. "I wouldn't worry about that at the moment, human. You aren't going to be allowed to wander around without an escort, at least not anytime soon. It is as much for your protection as it is for ours; aliens are not particularly welcomed by Peacekeepers, particularly the carrier-bred. Most have never even spoken to anyone who wasn't a Peacekeeper, much less to a non-Sebacean."

"You don't seem to have a problem with it," John noted.

"Ah, but I was planet-bred. It makes me, perhaps, a bit more open-minded." Crais stopped walking then, outside a door that looked, for all John could see, exactly like every other door they had passed for the past ten minutes.

Tauvo waved a hand over a sensor pad next to the doorway, and the door slid open. Inside was a group of half a dozen Sebaceans, all in gray jumpsuits.

Tauvo approached the group, with Crichton following half a step behind. "Chief Gelvis," he began, addressing an older-looking man who stood slightly apart from the group. "This is the individual the captain spoke to you about. John Crichton, this is Chief Tech Kiro Gelvis."

John held his hand out, but Gelvis just looked at him blankly. After a moment, John lowered his hand again and nodded. Tauvo continued, "Chief Gelvis has assembled a team which will work with you in pursuing the research. Gelvis, can you introduce them?"

Gelvis nodded. "From left to right, Techs Eklen Albar, Betal Wingro, Noema Maen, Gilina Renaez, Alanee Wolv, and Jolad Saitek."

John nodded at each as they were introduced, quite aware that he'd have to relearn their names later because they were coming too fast to process just now. In general, they appeared to be slighter and smaller than the soldiers he'd encountered; he wondered if selection as a tech might not have more to do with physical size and strength than aptitude for the work.

The group was watching him, waiting. He supposed they were expecting him to say something profound. "I'm not sure how much you've been told, so I'll tell you what little I know. I'm human, not Sebacean, and I arrived here from my homeworld via an unknown phenomenon that could have been a wormhole. Captain Crais wants me to work with you to confirm this and perform research, with a view towards harnessing wormhole technology. Since I'm new to your part of space, we'll have to start small. I know a bit about some theories behind wormholes, but I know nothing about your technology. I'll teach you what I know, if you all will help me learn in return."

He looked across the faces gazing back at him. Most wore blank expressions, with no sign of interest or even comprehension. One pair of eyes, however, was opened wide, blazing with curiosity and enthusiasm. It was a slim, slightly built woman with short blonde hair. What had Gelvis called her? Gilina?

John tagged her in his mind as the most likely candidate to help him cope and learn. He was in a strange new world, but now, for the first time, John began to think it might not be all bad.

TBC ...


	3. Goin' Nowhere Fast

**Episode 2 - ****Goin' Nowhere Fast**

_"I have no idea what goes on in that tiny little brain of yours...." -- John Crichton_

"Man," John groaned, gripping his head in his hands. "I feel like I've been cramming for a physics final for weeks."

Across the table, Gilina gave a small, shy smile. It was an expression that said, 'I have no idea what you just said, human, but I'm sure it was very amusing.' John had been seeing that look a lot recently.

"You've learned a great deal in a short time, John," she tried to reassure him.

"Yep," John sighed. "I can now read the PK equivalent of "Dick and Jane", open doors, and do some simple repairs. I can also convert meters per second into motras per microt at the drop of a hat. I'll have to remember to send Professor Rappaport a thank you note."

"Who?"

John grimaced at the memory. "A teacher I once had, for introductory physics. Liked to make students convert all their test answers into obscure units, like furlongs per fortnight. It was good practice for this." Having to adjust to an entirely new and alien set of measurements, constants, and concepts was the toughest part of the transition, so far. Well, second only to the sheer weirdness of living on a space ship, surrounded by thousands of people who'd just as soon kill him as shake his hand.

He and Gilina were sitting at a table in one of the carrier's many officers' lounges, drinking something called fellip nectar as they wound up another successful day of what John termed his 'elementary school' training. John was tired of feeling like the village idiot, and even more sick of being _treated_ that way by almost everyone aboard the carrier.

Gilina gave him that little smile again. She was just about the only person around here who took him seriously; she'd somehow managed to see past his initial ignorance about the details of their world and recognize his broad knowledge of the underlying science and engineering concepts. "At least we have your module almost completely upgraded now," she said, trying to cheer him up. "We can use it for wormhole experiments, if the Captain approves our proposal."

Now it was John's turn to smile. He and Gilina had had great fun tweaking his primitive little example of 'cutting edge technology'--which, in the beginning, was no better than a Cracker Jack toy by PK standards--into something that was, if not snazzy, at least serviceable. It was still small, underpowered, and underequipped compared to the Prowlers and Marauders it shared the hangar with--a Tin Lizzie parked in a garage alongside a fleet of HumVees and Maseratis--but it was no longer a complete laughingstock.

Modifying the _Farscape_ module had been Gilina's idea, as a way to gradually accustom him to their technology, as well as familiarize her with his. The other techs hadn't been eager to associate with the weird alien, especially outside of the laboratory, but Gilina had gradually learned to accept his quirks and enjoy his company. A friendly camaraderie had developed between them over the weeks ... weekens.

John's main frustration, lately, was his inability to progress the relationship any further. With that blonde hair and an intellect that equaled or surpassed his own, Gilina reminded him quite a bit of his last serious girlfriend, Alex. In all the right ways. But she was either blatantly ignoring his signals, or totally oblivious to them. Given that they were completely different species, he had to accept that the latter was quite possible.

John was about to empty the final drops from his drink when a loud, drunken-sounding voice came from over his shoulder. "Well, if it isn't our little tech Gilina and her pet alien. You have it trained to do tricks, yet?"

Gilina cringed, looking down into her empty glass. John knew from past arguments that she didn't deal well with confrontation, but kept silent. Anything he said would only make it worse. Catching her eye, he nodded towards the door, suggesting a tactical retreat. Gilina nodded, and they got up to leave.

Unfortunately, the drunken PK wasn't in the mood to let Gilina off the hook. He grabbed her by the arm, causing her to cry out in surprise and pain. "Or maybe you keep it around for recreation. Is that it, tralk? You get off on freaks?"

John's higher brain functions left the building at that point, and all thought of retreat went right out the window. Grabbing him by the arm that gripped Gilina, he dug his thumb into the underside of the man's wrist. Different as their species might be, the arrangement of muscles and tendons and nerves was similar enough that the PK let go.

John walked right up into the guy's face. "Listen, you frelling moron," he growled menacingly--he'd picked up a few choice expletives during his time here. "You got a problem with me? Take it up with me. Leave her out of it."

"Ooh," the grunt warbled, feigning fear for the entertainment of his friends. "The insect speaks! I could smear you across this floor with two fingers, 'oo-man'."

"You could try," Crichton said, Southern accent getting thicker by the microt. "And maybe I could rip off your balls and _feed_ 'em to you!" John got right in the guy's face, grinning maniacally. "Did that to a grizzly bear once back home, y'know, and those critters are probably twice your size, with claws and teeth long as your fingers. You really shouldn't try to _screw with me!_"

No, John's brain was definitely no longer calling the shots here.

The Peacekeeper found himself backed up against the wall, having retreated instinctively from the mad, spitting creature before him. Strangely intimidated, but unwilling to show fear in front of his comrades, the grunt gathered his wits and threw a wild swing at the alien's face. Between the alcohol and the confused emotional state, though, the attempt overbalanced him when Crichton saw it coming and ducked. John, while not an experienced fighter by any standard--bravado and bluff notwithstanding--had survived a few bar brawls in his time. Seeing his opponent's vulnerability, he grabbed him by the neck and drove the man's face into his knee.

The grunt collapsed to the floor, his nose oozing blood, as Crichton stepped back and tried not to look shocked at the unexpected success.

Pressing his advantage, John turned to the crowd of other grunts looking on. "All right, you no-neck cretins--who's next?"

**

* * *

**

"Anyone get the license plate of that truck?" John muttered softly, raising a hand to his pounding head.

"John? Are you all right?"

He wondered why Gilina sounded so worried. It was just a hangover, right? His last clear memory was of drinking fellip nectar in the officers' lounge. Didn't Sebaceans get hangovers? He tried to sit up, but a stab of pain from his entire ribcage changed his mind. He groaned, as the discomfort finally brought a memory of what happened afterwards to the surface.

John opened his eyes to find Gilina leaning over him, her face revealing more emotion than he'd seen in any Peacekeeper since he arrived. Worry, and gratitude. Maybe something more, but he didn't feel up to thinking about that at the moment. Behind Gilina, standing with arms crossed and looking down, was the impassive face of Tauvo Crais.

"I don't know what a 'lizenss plate' or 'truck' are, Commander, but the man you fought with was Sub-Officer Saro Abljak."

"Gesundheit," John quipped, closing his eyes again.

"From what I heard," Tauvo said suddenly, ignoring the nonsensical riposte, "you were doing fairly well until you turned your back on him."

"Yeah, well, I got lucky on that first shot; he was drunk. Though I suppose I wasn't thinking too clearly myself."

"I'm told you made some interesting claims about your fighting experiences. Something about a 'grisly'?"

"Oh, that," John murmured. "Um, actually, that wasn't really true. Remind me to teach you a human game sometime. We call it 'poker'."

Tauvo didn't have any idea what the human was talking about, so just moved on to his next bit of information. "Captain Crais gave orders that you were not to be harmed. Abljak will be getting punishment duty for violating that directive."

John grunted, not much interested in details when his head was hurting this much. Just meant the guy would be gunning for him even harder next time, anyway.

"In the mean time," Tauvo continued, "I was actually on my way to speak to you on an entirely different matter when I heard about the incident. B-- Captain Crais asked me to come discuss your research proposal with you. It's ... ambitious."

John opened his eyes, professional pride winning out over pain and personal humiliation. Sitting up, he propped himself against the wall before speaking. "Damn right it's ambitious. Your captain is asking me to harness a phenomenon that no one has ever seen, or even proven the existence of, on the basis of my fifteen seconds--sorry, ten microts--of experience with something that may or may not have been a wormhole. We've looked at the carrier's sensor logs for the time I arrived, but between the asteroid field's interference and the chaos of the battle, there's just not enough there to say anything for sure. We need detailed data and measurements and all kinds of information, from multiple observations, before we'll know if what Crais wants is even possible."

"So you want to take a team of techs to this star system you found in the files--way out in the Uncharted Territories, no less--to run these tests?" Tauvo asked.

"That's right. Now that we've got me up to a working level of PK education, and the techs have had some time to study wormhole theories, we need to go out and try to re-create what I did to get myself into this mess in the first place. And to do that, with any reasonable chance of success, we a star with a predictable solar flare cycle. It's the only thing we know that has even a chance of working."

Gilina chimed in. "We tried to find a good candidate in Peacekeeper territory, sir, but there weren't any stars scheduled to begin flare activity sooner than about a cycle and a half from now. The one we chose will peak in less than four monens."

"How many techs would you need to take with you, Crichton?"

"Well...." John paused, thinking. "Ideally, I'd say send the whole crew. Realistically?" John looked at Gilina, watching for disagreement. "If we had Gilina and one of the others, and a ship with all the sensors and instruments we need, running on automatic, I think we could hack it."

"Why her?" Tauvo asked, nodding at the blonde tech still hovering nearby.

Gilina ducked her head shyly, and John smiled in her direction. "Don't get me wrong, Lieutenant; every one of the people you assigned to this project is a brilliant engineer and technician. Given enough time, the six of them could build this command carrier from the ground up with nothing but baling wire and duct tape. But most of them never had the need to study esoteric theoretical physics before, and are having trouble really understanding it. Gilina, on the other hand, studied on her own and knew at least as much as I did about wormhole theories before we even met."

"I see." Tauvo didn't look at Gilina, but John was used to these soldiers' dismissive attitude towards the techs that kept their ship running. "All right," Crais continued, "I'll recommend that the captain approve your proposal and allocate a Marauder transport and a small crew to the mission."

"Try to find a crew that doesn't want to pound me into pudding, would ya Lieutenant?"

Tauvo almost smiled. "It will be difficult, but I will endeavor to find a few such people. There is time to be selective; according to your report, the star you'll be using won't enter its flare cycle for another four monens. The journey, on a marauder, will take less than two."

John was struck by a sudden thought. "You have any say about what kind of 'punishment' that grunt will get for attacking us?" he asked seriously.

"Yes...." Tauvo confirmed, warily. Bialar would listen to him if he made a suggestion.

"How about making him teach the 'primitive alien' how to defend himself? Make him responsible for my safety, even. Seems to me he'd find that sufficiently degrading to count as punishment, and it might help me survive the next time one of your xenophobic grunts has one too many. Besides, I've been needing a way to get some exercise around here."

Crais was shocked that a tech would be interested in learning self-defense. It wasn't their place to fight. But then, he reminded himself, this 'tech' was also a pilot. And he had managed to knock Abljak down once, even if a lot of luck had been involved. Simply challenging the soldier in the first place showed a warrior spirit of a kind he'd never seen in any tech.

"I'll consider it," Tauvo said grudgingly.

**

* * *

**

The ship shook, bucking and veering like a rodeo bull, while Crichton fought for control. The white-hot glow of atmospheric friction flickered outside the canopy, blocking any hope of vision. The roar of superheated gases flowing over the hull vied with the crackle of static from the coms.

_Man, I've missed this!  
_  
For the first time in close to six months--as he still measured time in his own mind--John Crichton was flying again.

The scientist in him had been content, for a time, sitting around tables in the labs of the carrier and tossing around theories on multi-dimensional physics. It was amazing how living on a huge spaceship, surrounded by hostile aliens who just happened to look human, could start to seem normal.

The carrier hadn't been idle during those months. On several occasions the ship had gone on a full alert, and John had been locked in his quarters for the duration. Most of those occasions turned out to be drills, but at least once, if the scuttlebutt amongst the techs could be believed, the carrier squadron had been in an actual skirmish with a small Scarran force. Other incidents, like the time they'd chased down and destroyed a Zenetan pirate vessel that had been raiding nearby trade routes, could occur without the non-combatants among the crew even being aware until it was over.

But now, after months of sitting idle, or occasionally getting the crap kicked out of him during his lessons with Sub-Officer Abljak, John was rediscovering his first love. Flying, in space or in atmosphere--there was nothing to compare to it.

He could hear a voice trying to call to him through the static, but the syllables were garbled. It was actually comforting to realize that, as far advanced as the Peacekeepers were, their technology still had limits. Throw enough ionized plasma at them, and their coms were just as useless as his old, now-discarded IASA radio.

At the proper moment, John pulled back hard on the controls and the _Farscape_ module blasted itself back out of the atmosphere--with nearly ten times the speed he'd begun the maneuver with. "Waaaaahoooooo!" he whooped, exulting in the victory. "DK, my man, we did it! It works!"

"John?" called a tentative voice over the coms, through the rapidly fading static.

"Yeah, Gilina, reading you loud and clear," he said, still giddy with success.

"Did something happen? Our instruments here didn't read any anomalies...."

"Nah, nothing happened on the wormhole front. I don't think I caught any flares that time, but I didn't really expect anything to happen on the first run, anyway. I'm just happy because the _Farscape_ effect really works, exactly like DK's and my theory said it would. It was a wild ride--eat your heart out, Walt Disney--but god damn, it _worked_!"

A second voice cut into the transmission then. "Crichton," the officer said, "turn around and decelerate immediately or you'll be off our scans."

"Oh, right," he murmured, noticing for the first time how far away from the planet he was getting. As he reached for the attitude thruster controls, a bright light flared through the canopy and he squinted his eyes. "Man, when this star flares it doesn't kid around. If we can catch one of those babies just right, we might actually get something interesting." Using the thrusters, he yawed the module around so he was facing back towards the planet, and then fired the engines backwards to slow himself down.

"Crichton," the officer called again, "return to the Marauder immediately; Techs Saitek and Renaez wish to inspect your module for damage before proceeding with the next test." The officer sounded impatient at the delay.

"Yeah, yeah, hold your horses," John muttered. "What's the hurry, got a hot date back on the carrier?"

There was an extended silence, and then, "A hot what? Crichton ... "

"Nothing, never mind," he called back, grinning with amusement. "Man, changing jobs sure didn't help develop you a sense of humor, did it, Ms. Sun?"

There was only silence from the woman at the other end of the coms. She might tolerate his human quirks better than most of her peers, which was why Crais had assigned her to this mission for her first official deployment as a Marauder commando, but that didn't mean she actually _liked_ him.

Once he made it back, the two techs got busy going over the _Farscape_ with a fine-toothed comb. John had a feeling they didn't really trust his primitive technology to hold together during rough atmospheric maneuvers, even though that was exactly what it had been designed for. While he was waiting for their okay so he could go try the experiment again, John wandered up the short corridor to the Marauder's tiny galley for a drink.

Hearing voices, he paused at the open door into the ship's command center. It was Senior Officer Jelko, speaking to his pilot.

"--suppose you find this mission far beneath your dignity, don't you Officer Sun?"

"I wouldn't say that, sir."

John could almost hear a smile in Jelko's voice, though he was sure no hint of any such thing actually reached his face. "Ah, but is that because it isn't true, or just because you don't think you're allowed to say it to a superior officer?"

There was a long moment of silence; John didn't think the woman was going to answer that, and was about to continue on up the corridor, when she broke the silence. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Granted."

"This is grot work, sir. I did not transfer to a Marauder squadron just to babysit a bunch of techs."

John smirked at that. He'd suspected as much, ever since the day Lt. Crais had informed her she'd been selected for this trip. Her face had gone totally blank, leaving only a slight tightening around the eyes to show her dismay.

"Well," Jelko replied to her complaint, "no one promised that your first mission would be exciting or prestigious. This is your training flight, and it is an exercise more in command skills than in commando skills. If you can succeed in a mission, even one as easy as this, with a crew of dumb grots like Esk and Fala, we figure you can probably survive anything. So far, you're doing an admirable job, and my reports reflect that."

"If you say so, sir."

"I happen to agree with you that a mission like this, going to some backwater planet just to watch some techs run their incomprehensible little tests for these wimmol-things--"

"Wormholes, sir," Sun interrupted. "Shortcuts across space; if they could be harnessed, they could allow a ship to arrive at a remote target and destroy it without warning."

John felt his jaw drop. Last time he'd seen Aeryn Sun, she'd known nothing about wormholes. Clearly she'd done some reading in the intervening months, and, even more impressive to him, she'd actually understood the basic concept and the implications of what she'd read.

"In addition, sir, I think the maneuver the human just demonstrated merits some study. It may have applications to prowler tactics around planetary bodies, particularly when a rapid withdrawal of forces is indicated."

_Oh, great,_ John thought sarcastically, shoving down a surge of selfish, egotistical pride, _the Farscape Effect co-opted as a weapon of war. Typical....  
_  
Jelko was clearly uninterested, however, which was far more typical among the Peacekeeper commandos John had encountered. "Whatever. While we're waiting for the techs to get back to it, Sun, I'd like you to run a scan...."

John eased away from the door and completed his interrupted journey to the galley. He was thirsty, and Gilina and Saitek were efficient, so he might not have much time. Part of his mind, however, lingered with Aeryn Sun; clearly there was more to her than met the eye.

**

* * *

**

"All right, moving into position for another run," John called out to his audience on the Marauder. "_Farscape One: The Search for Wormholes_, take twelve ... action!"

Back with IASA, John's running monologue would have earned him either chuckles or groans--more likely both--from the folks down in Canaveral. Here, he had a slightly tougher crowd.

They were nearing the end of their second day of testing, still with no concrete success to speak of. The flares were unpredictable, and he'd only managed to time his run to coincide with one once. Unfortunately, that one had flashed over him near the beginning of the maneuver, before he'd built up much speed, and nothing had happened.

As he drifted towards his starting point, John took a moment to gaze down on the planet he was repeatedly circling. Another alien world, only the second one he'd seen with his own eyes since leaving home, and as different from the first one as that one had been from Earth. Bright yellow-brown, with barely any clouds in the atmosphere, it was a completely desert world. Tatooine, but without the ambience. Even so, the temptation to land, and to plant a human footprint in the surface as his father had done on Earth's moon, was almost irresistible.

"When you're ready, John," Gilina's voice crackled through his coms. He looked down at the instruments and saw he was in the correct position. Taking a deep breath, he reached forward and flipped the main engines to full power. A blast of acceleration threw him back in his seat, and the wild roller coaster ride began all over again. Dive straight into the atmosphere, at a 25 to 35 degree angle, let gravity do the work, and ride the bucking bronco while you wait for the breakout point--he'd done it enough times now that it was second nature.

As he neared apogee, he heard Gilina's static-garbled voice calling out to him. "... ohn, we...tecting ... lar flare ... ear me?"

A bright light, just as he was ready to pull up. When his eyes stopped blinking at the overload, they were drawn upwards, to a blue light. A funnel shape, twisting and spinning, leading down to nowhere. Gorgeous....

"John?" Gilina queried over the coms. "Can you ... me? Jo ... pl ... spond!"

_Home. _John was mesmerized. _This could be my way home._ The tunnel seemed to beckon to him, dancing just out of reach. _No more hostile aliens. No more playing pet scientist to some power-hungry military commander...._

"Jo ... " the techs were still calling to him. "... ot stable!"

_Dad_

"... ull up ... "

_Earth_

"... ust abor ... "

_Home_

"Crichton!" The sharp voice woke him from his reverie. Officer Sun. " ... ormhole ... unstab ... ull OUT!"

"Um, yeah," John muttered, shaking off the fugue. He could see now what they were trying to tell him; this wormhole he'd started was nowhere near stable, and would almost certainly take him nowhere. All it would do, most likely, is kill him, very messily. He yanked up on the controls, pulling up and banking right with full power to every reverse thruster he had. He almost made it clear, but at the last second, the wormhole seemed to reach out for him, and he blasted through the wall of the tunnel.

Several controls shorted out at the overload, but once the smoke cleared, John could see that the damage wasn't crippling. Behind him, the proto-wormhole shrank into itself and vanished, and he felt a pang of loss. And then, a thrill of hope. He'd done it! Unstable or not, he'd just taken one giant step on the yellow brick road back to Kansas.

He wanted to try it again. And again. Right away. Only a stern order from Jelko, along with the fact that his module's systems were still acting wonky from that narrow escape, convinced him to come back to the Marauder for repairs.

**

* * *

**

He was up all night, helping Gilina and Saitek pull the _Farscape_ apart and analyze the damage. He wanted the ship fixed as fast as possible, so he could get a dozen more flights in before the flares died down in a few days. The techs were almost as stoked as he was, just from seeing the data they'd recorded on that last run.

John couldn't sleep, he was so excited, even when they had the module back in top shape and Gilina told him to go to bed. He tried, knowing it really would be a good idea to be rested for his piloting the next day, but gave up after a couple of arns and went to the galley.

Unlike the carrier where the food was decent--though strange to his provincial tastes--the Marauder's limited storage space reduced their fare to something they called 'food cubes'. John remembered them from his brief stay on that escaped Leviathan back when he'd first arrived, and they were no better-tasting now. But munching on the rubbery concoctions did at least pass the time and fill his neglected stomach.

It seemed like forever until the rest of the crew woke up and started the day. John was champing at the bit, all fitted out and helmet in hand ready to climb into the module the microt he had the go-ahead.

Finally, it came. He bounced into the cockpit and sealed the canopy, then ran through a complete pre-flight checklist--only sensible when the ship had been taken to pieces and put back together since the last trip--and started warming up the engines.

"Commander Crichton," Senior Officer Jelko called down from the command center. "Stand down and discontinue your preparations. We've received orders from the carrier and will have to postpone further tests until our new mission is completed."

"What?" John exclaimed, stunned. "Nonononono, we can't stop now! The flares will be gone soon, and we won't be able to do anything after that. This could be my way home, damn it!"

"Orders, Commander." As if that made everything right.

Ten microts later, John stormed into the command center. He was still zipped into his flight suit, though he'd at least left the helmet behind. "What the hell could be so fucking important that Crais would pull us out? He wanted this!" While he usually endeavored to be deferential to the Peacekeeper commandos he had to deal with, just to blend in better, John was in no mood to be polite right now.

Jelko was stubbornly silent, deliberately not looking at Crichton. Seeing her commanding officer about ready to explode, Officer Sun endeavored to calm things by explaining. "After those prisoners escaped on the Leviathan half a cycle ago, Captain Crais detailed several Marauder crews to infiltrate the Uncharted Territories and track them down. One such crew has discovered the remains of the one of our command carriers, which was reported missing over one hundred cycles ago. The crew that discovered it, however, had no techs aboard and couldn't perform a full survey. They informed the carrier, and the carrier just signaled us. We are the only ship Captain Crais has in the area that has the resources required."

"So, what, we're going to go raise the _Titanic_? It's been there a hundred years; it can wait a few more days!"

"We. Have. Our. Orders." Jelko's voice was dangerous.

"Well, to hell with your fucking orders, G.I. Joe! This is my--"

Senior Officer Jelko, apparently losing patience with this insolent probakto, rose to his feet, turned in one smooth motion, and aimed a perfect Pantak jab at Crichton's face.

John blocked the strike and stepped back, his protest left unfinished as he sent silent thanks to his reluctant savior, Abljak. Jelko was obviously quite shocked that a mere tech, and an alien one at that, had thwarted him. A tide of red started rising from under his collar, and Crichton backed away further towards the door.

Suddenly, Officer Sun appeared in the space between them, facing her superior officer. "Sir," she said calmly, "Captain Crais gave explicit orders that Crichton was not to be harmed, no matter what the provocation." She turned then and speared the human with her eyes. "As for you, I suggest you keep your frelling mouth shut and return to the hangar to secure your equipment for travel; we will be leaving this system within a quarter arn."

John looked from her to the still-seething figure behind her. His indignation at the change in plans was undiminished, but he also could see the wisdom of Sun's 'suggestion'. He'd seen examples of Peacekeeper disciplinary methods, which were universally harsh and usually involved bruises or bloodshed. Jelko was pissed, and, orders or no orders, he would probably take John apart if he spoke another word.

This slavish adherence to orders in the absence of logic really set John's teeth on edge, and here it was robbing him of his dreams. Had Officer Sun not been there, he probably would have thrown caution to the winds and tried to fight Jelko for the right to complete his experiments. But the woman was still glaring at him, and her eyes managed to drill past his reptile brain and awaken a small shred of his seldom-used common sense.

He backed out of the command center and stalked back down to the tiny hangar bay, grumbling invectives under his breath and barely noticing that Gilina, who had been lurking outside the command doors listening, was following him.

He picked up the first item that came to hand when he reached the hangar and threw it across the room in a fit of pique. The spanner ricocheted off two walls before falling to the deck again.

Gilina ran a hand up John's back and shoulder, trying to comfort and calm his tension as he stood there staring at his now-grounded module. "There will be other times, John. We got good data on your successful run yesterday, and it's possible we wouldn't have gotten another before the flares were over, even if we'd been allowed to continue. Just be glad we got the time to succeed even once."

John walked over and laid a single hand against the side of his module. "So close...."

TBC ...


	4. Trial By Fire

**Episode**** 3 - Trial by Fire  
**

_"Well, I try to save a life a day. Usually, it's my own...." -- John Crichton_

"So, that's the big mystery ship, huh?" John commented, staring at the picture on the viewscreen.

It had taken three weekens of travel to reach the location of the missing carrier. And almost that long for tempers to finally settle down between Crichton and Jelko.

Finally, though, John had accepted that Gilina was right--he should be grateful for their one success and not dwell on opportunities lost. They had good data now; hopefully, it would be enough.

In the meantime, the PKs had dragged his ass halfway across the galaxy looking for a shipwreck.

"That's the _Zelbinion_," Gilina said, her voice hushed with wonder and sadness.

"Man, someone sure pounded the hell out of that thing. Hope whoever it was isn't hanging around anymore."

"No species we're aware of should have been able to destroy her," the other tech, Saitek, said from behind them. "She was the largest and most powerful ship the Peacekeepers ever constructed, and was commanded by one of our most revered heroes, Captain Selto Durka. That's why we were ordered to do a full survey; High Command needs an explanation for her defeat."

The three of them were huddled together in the sensor bay the Marauder had been equipped with for the wormhole experiments. Marauders were very versatile spacecraft, with a number of sub-types within the class. They performed tasks ranging from straight cargo and troop transportation to long-range scouting, intelligence gathering, and commando raids. Battle types had more power and weapons, while the cargo and troop transports were stripped down to provide more interior space. Fitting one of the cargo variety out for a scientific mission such as this had been relatively easy; the techs back at the carrier had installed the complex sensors, recorders, and computers here in one storage room, and then modified the tiny cargo transfer bay so they could store, repair, and launch the _Farscape_ module.

The coms on the wall crackled to life, and Officer Sun's voice sounded into the room. "Renaez, Saitek, prepare all sensors for a full exterior scan. We'll get a full survey of the hull before boarding."

"Aye, sir," both techs called back, jumping into action. John stepped back out of their way, letting the experts handle things.

The image on the screen grew and spun as the Marauder slowly circled the _Zelbinion,_ first one way and then another. John whistled under his breath at the severity and extent of the destruction. The ship had essentially been gutted from beneath, and thousands of pieces of debris still spun lazily in slow orbit of the battered behemoth.

After several hundred microts of cataloguing damage and decay, the view suddenly swerved. "Hostiles detected, secure for combat," Sun announced on shipwide coms in a serious tone. "Esk and Fala, man weapons."

**

* * *

**

Up in command, Aeryn and her superior were focused, almost relieved to finally have a real threat to deal with. This was what a soldier was for.

"Sheyang vessel is priming its plasma conductor, preparing to fire," Officer Sun reported from her position at the helm. "Holding at fifty metras, outside our weapons' range. Estimate approximately a hundred microts before they can fire."

"Any communications?" Jelko asked.

"None, sir. They can see from our profile that we're no match for them, so why bother negotiating?"

"Options?"

There was a short pause; Aeryn wasn't used to being asked for an opinion. "We could shelter inside the Zelbinion, sir."

"Agreed," he nodded. Aeryn quickly set a least-time course to get into shelter behind the main body of the wreck. "Unfortunately," Jelko pointed out, "the _Zelbinion_ has no active defenses. Even those Sheyang cowards could destroy it right now. It may not be much protection."

"The Sheyang are scavengers, sir," Aeryn replied, thinking fast even as she spoke, "so they are unlikely to attempt to destroy the wreck to get to us. It would cost them too much valuable equipment they might otherwise be able to salvage. I think they will most likely send soldiers aboard to pursue us. In that case, we can fight them on more even terms."

"And in the mean time, we can have the techs attempt to get one of the _Zelbinion_'s weapons systems operational again. With a carrier's frag cannon, even an old one, we could blast that frelling ship apart in one salvo." Jelko sounded bloodthirsty; he disliked retreating from any enemy, even when they outgunned him. Maybe especially when they outgunned him.

"Sir!" came the voice of one of the techs through the coms. "Enemy ship has fired, impact in seven microts!"

"Can we evadein time?" Jelko demanded, turning to his pilot.

"Possibly, sir. All hands, brace for acceleration!" Aeryn called out over the shipwide coms.

**

* * *

**

It had been a chaotic and terrifying ten minutes for John Crichton. The Sheyangs' first shot, though they'd avoided the full force of it, had sent a tremendous power surge through every console in the sensor bay, blowing out screens and starting small spot fires behind the panels. The impact had set the ship spinning and thrown them all to the deck; John found himself lying with Gilina sprawled on top of him. Under other circumstances, this might have been the opportunity he'd been waiting for....

But, things being as they were, he just let go and helped her to her feet the second Sun regained control and the ship stopped jostling them around.

John was kept busy putting out fires while the others scrambled to keep essential systems functioning. The Sheyang ship fired a second time, grazing their treblin side engines, before Officer Sun finally squeezed the Marauder through a small opening in the _Zelbinion_'s secondary hangar doors. The hangar itself had long since been vented to space, but the Sheyang ship was too large to follow them, and the superstructure of the carrier's hull would protect them for a time while they regrouped.

Jelko assigned Tech Saitek to stay with the Marauder and attempt to repair the damaged engines and communications systems. Crewman Fala would stay with him, both to assist as necessary and provide protection against the Sheyang boarding parties that were sure to follow. Hopefully, the vacuum surrounding the Marauder would provide some protection, as well.

John and Gilina would accompany Jelko, Sun, and Esk into the heart of the _Zelbinion_. They would make their way to the ship's weapons rooms, hoping that one or more of the main cannons could be rendered operational by a tech and a half-trained alien, while the soldiers attempted to draw the Sheyang raiders into traps and ambushes.

Since the part of the ship they had landed in was a vacuum, they all had to suit up in the black PK spacesuits. It was only a minor annoyance, and in a way, they'd been supremely lucky; had the Sheyang arrived even an arn later, the Marauder would have been firmly docked to one of the exterior airlocks leading to a pressurized section, helpless and vulnerable. The Sheyang weapon would have incinerated it completely, leaving them trapped. Fortunately, the PK suits were a thousand times easier to put on and maneuver in than the old IASA monstrosities John had trained in. He thought it might be the single best improvement the PKs had made in their technological advancement.

It took the group half an arn to climb through the debris and shattered superstructure to find an airlock leading to a still-pressurized portion of the derelict ship. Once they assured themselves that the air was still breathable, the suits were removed and tucked away in a nearby storage container for use on their return.

John had spent the last half-cycle aboard a ship very much like what this one had once been. He'd considered Crais' carrier dark and depressing, the décor Spartan, the corridors claustrophobic, and the whole ambience reminiscent of an old Soviet gulag. But the _Zelbinion_ almost made him homesick for that home away from home. After a century of drifting dead in space, the passageways were dark and, strangely, often wet from water trickling down through the conduits from above. Dozens of bodies, long since decomposed, lay scattered about. The only illumination came from the lights mounted on the soldiers' rifles, and from a couple of hand-held flashlights carried by the techs. The constantly moving shadows made the journey that much spookier.

"Where'd all this water come from?" John whispered to Gilina.

Gilina glanced nervously at the soldiers leading them, then leaned over towards John. "Some of the planetary terrain reconstructions may have lost structural containment during the last battle, or in the cycles since. Uncontained, the water would seep out into the conduits and pervade the entire ship. When it reaches the lowest decks, the heat from the old partanium power core probably evaporates it into the atmosphere, and the water in the air condenses on the cold surfaces of the inner hull on every deck. The evaporation/condensation cycle explains the constant dripping."

John really wasn't listening to most of the explanation, distracted by two simple words Gilina had spoken in passing. "Planetary terrain? Wait a minute, are you telling me this ship had places that weren't all metal walls and red paint?" John was suddenly envious of this long-dead crew, to have been so blessed.

"Of course; all Peacekeeper carriers have them. Ours has about forty such terrains all through the ship, and the _Zelbinion_ had more than that. The plants convert carbon dioxide into oxygen, and the reservoirs are rich with microscopic life forms that help purify the water we use for drinking and bathing. The soldiers use the terrains for ground combat training, too, and some people go there in their off duty time to relax and gossip."

"What? Well, damn!" John cursed, a bit too loudly. Jelko turned and shushed him, his expression annoyed. Well, more annoyed than usual, anyway. John lowered his voice back to a whisper, but with no less force. "I sure as hell wish someone had bothered to mention that little feature to me before; I'd have given my right arm some days to see a tree, smell a flower, lie on the grass--or whatever you guys use. I miss the color green. Promise me, when we get out of here, first thing you do when we get back is show me to the nearest terrain. Okay?"

"All right, John," Gilina agreed, without much enthusiasm.

They moved on through what seemed like miles of dank, creepy hallways, John and Gilina doing their best to stay quiet while the commandos leading them moved with effortless stealth, checking every junction they passed for hidden dangers, and communicating with each other in silent hand signs.

John found himself watching Aeryn Sun. The intricate dance of muscles and grace. When he'd first met her, she'd been a captured prisoner, and nearly as disoriented by the situation they were caught up in as he was. Now, though, she was in her element, and he was seeing her in her full, confident, self-assured glory.

In spite of the tension of the situation--or perhaps because of it--John felt his body respond. He allowed himself a rueful smirk. Trapped in the dark with two beautiful women, and there was nothing to be done with either of them. Gilina was pretty, and smart, and just as insatiably curious about the universe as he was. She was everything he'd ever found attractive in a woman, but after all these months of trying, he had pretty much given up hope that she'd ever see him as anything but a comrade, possibly a friend.

And Aeryn? Beauty with a spice of deadly danger, passions held constrained by duty and regulations. Smart, too--he'd caught glimpses of her mind at work--but her job, this structured, restrictive life she led, sadly stifled that aspect of her potential. She was a tiger in a cage, but John was no Siegfried and Roy. The woman embodied the concept of 'look but don't touch.' And don't let her catch you looking, either. _Forget it, Johnny boy, _his brain tried to tell the rest of him, _PK Commando Bitch is definitely not your type._ Some parts, however, were reluctant to listen to reason.

Their first destination was the highest tier of the ship, where the dorsal guns were located. The partial scans they had completed of the exterior showed that the rear and lower parts of the ship were the most seriously damaged, with weapons either gone or obviously ruined. Fortunately, the Sheyang ship had been holding position several metras in front of and slightly above the bow of the carrier. Either the dorsal or forward cannons, if they were intact, stood a chance of hitting it.

When they reached the dorsal battery, however, they found...nothing. Some time during the past hundred cycles, scavengers had stripped the ship. Probably several times. The components of the frag cannons themselves, not to mention the support systems in the adjacent service bay and the large quantities of chakan oil from the ammunition tanks, were valuable prizes. The huge guns had been stripped down almost to their metal skeletons, and the tanks were dry.

No one said a word; they moved on, heading forward and further away from the landing bays. The hope, John assumed, was that given their greater distance from the points of entry, the forward sections might be less thoroughly pillaged.

The forward gun battery contained a total of four triple-barreled cannons, each in a self-contained and well-armored housing. The cannons were each fully eighty feet in diameter and stretched the length of a football field. They were all showing signs of visitations by scavengers, with major components ripped out and pieces scattered willy-nilly across the floor space around them. It was obvious, even to John's unschooled eyes, that parts were missing.

Gilina made a swift survey of each gun, climbing through the maintenance tunnels and over the whole outside perimeter. Cannon number four, to the far hammond side, was the one she determined was their best shot. While it had been almost completely disassembled by careless foragers, it was actually missing the fewest essential parts.

The reason for that, once it was discovered, was obvious. Each gun bay had a large cargo hatch overhead, leading up to the service deck where the firing controls and chakan oil tanks were stored. Large pieces of equipment could once have been lowered into each bay via an arrangement of lifts and cranes. In the case of the fourth gun, however, that access port was jammed shut by debris. The armored chamber was accessible only through a maintenance hatch connecting to the third battery and some tunnels underneath which couldn't be opened from the outside. Only the smaller bits of equipment that the scavengers had been able to carry out through the small hatches had been taken.

Gilina claimed she could find or jerry-rig substitutes for all of the essential missing pieces. With luck, she said, she could get this one weapon rebuilt and functional in about ten arns.

"But, sir," she pointed out, "there are two problems I'll need to use the Marauder to fix. The targeting circuits are missing from every cannon I've examined; they're small and highly valuable. I can get the cannon ready to fire, but I will need to salvage the Marauder's navigation console and tie those circuits into here in order to aim it. Also, the chakan oil tanks are all but empty. To use the cannon, we will need to drain every weapons system on the Marauder and feed all of the oil into here. And even that will give you, at most, one or two shots. I'm not sure how powerful those shots will be, either."

"If we do this right, one shot is all we'll need, and even a weak volley from a carrier's frag cannon should blow that ship out of the sky. Permission granted to use whatever you require from the Marauder--she's of no use to us until we deal with the Sheyang. Get to work. Crewman Esk, stay with the techs, assist as required. Since you're armed, you'll be the one to go get whatever they require from the Marauder and elsewhere. Sun and I will position ourselves in the service bay to intercept any Sheyang who might try to interfere, so you won't be able to get out that way. Use escape hatches under the cannon to access other parts of the ship. Since you can't open those ports from the outside, just use the standard knock code and the techs will let you back in."

Esk looked ready to explode in protest at what he likely viewed as a thoroughly degrading assignment, but years of training and indoctrination won out over his resentment, and he kept silent.

**

* * *

**

Officers Sun and Jelko climbed up into the service deck through the third cannon's hatch. Aeryn looked around, assessing the tactical potential for defending this position while the techs labored to reconstruct a century-old weapon. The chamber was immense, as wide as all four gun bays beneath it put together, and a hundred motras deep. Three decks in height, the chamber was densely webbed with conduits, pipes, and suspended equipment. Everything was badly corroded by the constant drip of water. The large ammunition storage tanks that had once contained chakan oil were crowded against the back wall, with gravity-feeds leading down into the firing chambers below. The area near the door, however, was open and mostly clear of debris, providing little cover. A number of catwalks, level risers, and walkways gave access to the upper levels.

"We'll establish our defensive positions up there," Jelko said, pointing to the highest catwalk . "Except for the hatches down to the gun bays, there's only the one entrance to the chamber, here at the floor level. Have you ever faced Sheyangs before, Sun?"

"No, sir, although we learned a little about them in training." Not a lot, though; as a rule, the scavengers kept themselves primarily to areas outside of Peacekeeper control. When faced with a Peacekeeper ship, Sheyangs were almost always outgunned and would retreat in haste; on this occasion, the Marauder had simply not been strong enough to intimidate them.

Jelko lectured as they climbed the ladders to the upper levels. "They may be frelling cowards in space, but one on one they can be a bit bolder. And with good reason; their species' ability to spit superheated gases at a target is a formidable weapon in close combat. Most of them don't carry hand weapons at all. They don't need to.

"Their maximum flame range is about ten motras, but it's a good idea to hit them from a greater distance than that if you can. That's part of the reason I've chosen that vantage point. A fully-charged Sheyang, with its flame nutrients undepleted, will explode violently when shot by a pulse weapon. The heat and blast force can melt metal and destroy nearby equipment; no need to explain what would happen to an unprotected Sebacean that was too close.

"If the creature has flamed a great deal recently, then the explosion will be significantly smaller, though still dangerous. Best not to shoot it at all if you are closer than ten or fifteen motras."

"That's what we were told in training, sir." Aeryn wondered if he was testing her, or simply thought she was that ignorant.

"Good to know you were paying attention, Sun. What your teachers may not have mentioned is that these frellniks can't flame upwards very well. It reduces their range by at least half when they try to bend that way. So as long as we stay at a higher vantage point, they can't hurt us."

Sun smiled. He was right; they hadn't covered that detail. "Understood, sir."

Jelko paused and looked around the room. "We'll take positions on either side of the entrance, to create a cross-fire."

**

* * *

**

John and Gilina were crammed back-to-back in a narrow access shaft, attempting to replace burnt-out and corroded connections with new ones, scavenged from better preserved systems throughout the ship. They'd been at it for three arns already, working by hand-held lights in the pitch-dark chamber, and had much of the primary cannon assembly rebuilt already. Now came the hard part, bypassing missing components or replacing them with similar equipment and hoping the match would be close enough.

Esk had already brought part of the navigation system from the Marauder, which Saitek had carefully dismantled for him into portable sections. He had set out after the next piece a while ago, and ought to be back any microt. The chakan oil would be the hard part, as he'd have to cart it through the corridors in small containers, requiring many trips.

Gilina strained to reach into a tight space, then decided it would be more effective to remove the entire component from its housing to work on it. She tugged, but it was wedged in tight. "John?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Hmm?"

"Can you help me with this? I need to remove the control node, and it's stuck. Can you brace this while I pull?"

"Sure," he said, turning, careful not to hit her with his elbows. He placed one hand on either side of the component Gilina wanted and said, "Okay, go."

She pulled, and for a couple of microts it seemed they might have to find another way. Then, suddenly, the node popped free. With the unexpected loss of support, she collapsed back into John's arms. He caught her, and for a moment they stood still, neither knowing what to say or do.

John was torn between pleasure and embarrassment. He knew Gilina couldn't help but feel how her presence in these close quarters had affected him, and wasn't sure what she'd do about it. She might ignore it, as she had all of his previous, less-blatant indications of interest. She might ask him in all innocence what it meant; after all, John really had no idea if Sebaceans and humans were as similar under their clothes as they looked at first glance. For all he knew, they might reproduce by fission. He just hoped Gilina wouldn't get upset by it.

She was frozen for a moment, clutched in his arms. Then, as if coming to a decision, she turned slowly, looked John in the eye, then reached up and kissed him deeply.

John's eyes widened, and he almost flinched away. When she finally came up for air, he said, "Gilina? What was that for?"

Gilina looked confused and lowered her eyes. "I thought...you'd like it. Thought you wanted it."

"I did! I mean, I do. I've wanted to do that ever since I met you, but I didn't think you were interested."

"I couldn't...not before, not with everyone around watching all the time. I couldn't let anyone know how I.... It's one of our strongest taboos. I ..." She trailed off, lowering her eyes.

"What's wrong, Gilina?"

"You're not Sebacean."

"Oh." Comprehension dawned. Peacekeepers in general were a supremely racist group; he'd experienced that first-hand. Stood to reason they'd have miscegenation laws. It simply hadn't occurred to him before. "So," he said, smiling to soften the question, "why now?"

"I wanted to. I wanted you to know, in case...in case this doesn't work and we die here."

He put a hand to her cheek. "We're not going to die, Gilina."

"John, how long has Esk been gone?"

He paused, confused by the apparent change of topic. "I dunno, maybe ... half an arn?"

"More like three quarters. It shouldn't have taken half that long to get to the Marauder. He's not coming back, John. And we can't finish this without his help." With that, she reached back up and kissed him again. Part of John's brain was busy trying to come up with an argument to counter Gilina's pessimism. The rest was telling that annoying part to shut up and enjoy the ride.

**

* * *

**

Aeryn Sun stood, as she had for the past three arns, leaning against the damp and rusted railing that lined the upper catwalk, keeping her rifle pointed squarely at the entryway far below. Senior Officer Jelko was stationed at the opposite end of the walkway. It was a good tactical position; each of them possessed good cover from a vertical metal support pylon, with a wall at their backs, the only entrance directly in front of them, and no cover for those who might attempt to enter within twenty motras of the door.

_One could almost wish,_ she found herself thinking, _that these creatures were more worthy adversaries. _Where was the challenge, after all, in facing opponents so incompetent that it took them over two arns to even find the Peacekeepers they sought? And that first one, striding into the chamber below without even checking his surroundings, had simply exploded with volcanic force when she and Jelko fired at him simultaneously. There was little or nothing left of the body, except some smoldering fragments scattered across the floor.

Since then, the Sheyang soldiers had been more cautious. She'd seen them looking in from the corridor, though how well they could see with those tiny, pathetic excuses for eyes, she had no idea.

Jelko expected them to attempt to storm the chamber en masse; he'd told her to be ready. Peacekeeper intelligence reports estimated that the standard Sheyang vessel carried anywhere from one to two hundred soldiers, each with an agile single-man boarding capsule. With numbers like that, they might feel confident enough to take on the entrenched Peacekeepers. But all they were doing was looking in every few dozen microts.

She recalled complaining to her commanding officer early in the mission about the tedium and ignominy of herding a passel of techs around, when she'd transferred to Marauders looking for action. What was it she'd overheard the human say? 'Be careful what you wish for'?

Now, where had that thought come from? She was glad for this, wasn't she? She was a Peacekeeper, a Commando. Facing an enemy and doing battle with it was her highest duty. Victory was success, fulfillment of the purpose for which she had been bred and raised.

Why the frell weren't these hezmots _doing _something? Were they just going to sit down there and stare her to death? She was sorely tempted to take a shot at one of their observers just to break the tedium, in spite of Jelko's strict order to conserve ammunition.

Perhaps this strange, uncomfortable feeling was just due to the novelty of the situation. Aeryn had been in battle before, many times, but always before she had been at the helm of her Prowler. Ground fighting was something she'd experienced a great deal in training, but never before in a real situation.

That must be it, she decided. All this sitting around and waiting must be making her nostalgic for the speed and excitement of space combat.

It was odd, she thought distractedly, that in this one respect she might have more in common with their alien 'scientist' than with her fellow soldier and commanding officer. The human was a pilot, with a love for flying that equaled her own. She'd heard it in his voice, back at Dam-Ba-Da when he was demonstrating his 'sling-shot' technique. A strange, unnatural combination--tech and pilot. Her mind could barely wrap itself around the concept.

Another brief view of a Sheyang soldier, glancing around the edge of the door. Her finger tightened on the trigger, preparing to shoot if this was prelude to an invasion, but the figure just disappeared again. Aeryn sighed in frustration and wiped a bead of sweat off her forehead.

She recalled the human's blatant exhilaration at his first success, not with wormholes, but with the maneuver itself. She'd been pretty impressed herself, though she'd been careful not to let it show. For such a tiny, primitive vessel to achieve such astounding acceleration--she'd had visions of Prowler squadrons racing across space at high velocities, outrunning pursuers or pursued. Jelko had dismissed its usefulness out of hand, probably unwilling to consider that anything an _alien_ had developed might have any worth. But then, Jelko wasn't a pilot.

If there was one thing she almost regretted about her recent transfer, it would be loss of that feeling of freedom and excitement that she used to have flying her Prowler. Piloting a Marauder was just not the same. You mostly flew them in a direct course, from origin to destination, and you always had a senior officer looking over your shoulder. She thought Crichton would probably understand if she tried to tell him about that.

Her thoughts on the alien male brought her to wonder how much progress he and the tech were making on the frag cannon. Renaez had said ten arns...which might mean eight, or twelve, or might simply be her refusal to admit that it couldn't be done at all. Aeryn had endured enough Prowler repairs and overhauls to know what tech estimates were like.

The Sheyang observers down below were showing signs of tension, their brief appearances at the edges of the entryway getting both more frequent and more furtive. She wiped more sweat away, noticing consciously for the first time how warm it was getting. Why was it getting hotter?

Aeryn felt her guts clench, the subtle feeling of nervousness suddenly flaring into full-blown anxiety. What would _she_ be doing were she in a situation like the one the Sheyangs faced--enemies cornered in a room, with the single entrance guarded by troops with the advantage of position?

When the answer flashed across her awareness, she turned to call out to her commanding officer. Before she could speak a word, however, the back wall, between her and Jelko, exploded inwards with a shower of flame and molten metal.

Of course. She'd be looking to find--or create--another way in, to ambush an unguarded flank. She'd known. Deep down, she'd been worried that they were ignoring something important, but had let Jelko's confidence in his own tactics lull her into complacency.

Almost before the lastshards of flaming debris hit the floor, Sheyang soldiers rushed through the opening they'd created. The ingrained reflexes built by decades of Peacekeeper training took over, leaving Aeryn's mind almost a detached observer of the chaos that followed. She and Jelko turned to face the invaders who poured onto the walkway between their positions. She could see her senior officer, through the crush of bodies and smoke, firing his rifle again and again. Her own rifle was spitting pulse fire just as fast, though she was being careful not to hit Jelko with any wild shots.

The first soldiers through the door fell quickly, with very little explosive backlash since their nutrient reserves were all but gone. By the end of the first wave, the smoke from the explosion and the dead soldiers was hanging thick around the breach, concealing the opening, and obscuring Aeryn's view of Jelko. There was a pause, then several jets of flame shot out from the smoke. Since the Sheyangs hadn't been able to see their targets either, Aeryn only had to duck to the side to avoid getting scorched. But just as she was rolling to her knees again, two Sheyangs burst out of the haze and charged her.

Since she could no longer see Jelko, Aeryn knew she needed to shoot carefully and not miss her targets. She waited a microt for the two soldiers to get clear of the smoke, then shot the one in the lead squarely in the center of the chest.

She'd expected him to fall quietly, as those before him had, but this soldier had not done much of the work of burning through the wall. Most of his nutrient stores were still present, and the blast of those combustible fuels released and ignited all at once knocked Aeryn backwards for several motras until she skidded to a stop on her back. The rush of heat left her feeling dizzy. Even the Sheyang's companion was dazed by the explosion, having landed square on his eema, and was just blinking stupidly, neither advancing nor retreating.

The headless body of the dead alien wavered on its feet for a moment, then toppled over the railing, falling onto the ammunition tanks on the floor below. Thanks to the century of corrosion, the empty tanks were greatly weakened and collapsed under the impact. The vapors and residue of chakan oil in the tanks met the still-smoldering body of the Sheyang, with predictable results.

As the body disappeared over the edge, Aeryn struggled to her feet, preparing to kill the remaining alien before he recovered and attacked again. But just as she was bringing her rifle to bear, there was a crash from below, and then a tremendous roar of noise, a flash, a wave of heat and light. The floor dropped away from under her feet and she was flying over the railing, falling, falling....

**

* * *

**

The chamber containing the frag cannon was well insulated, so the first indication John and Gilina had of the battle being waged over their heads was the sharp jolt and muffled concussion from the last huge explosion.

The flames from the conflagration quickly traveled down the feeder lines into the cannon itself, and within microts of hearing and feeling the blast, they found themselves dodging gouts of flame as valves and relays blew out in sequence all through the weapon's superstructure.

"What the frell was that?" John demanded when he finally caught his breath.

Gilina seemed a little stunned; John supposed it wasn't often that a machine she was repairing tried to incinerate her without warning. "The feed lines," she muttered, looking around at the damage pattern. "Something ignited the chakan oil residue."

"That was a big explosion somewhere, Gilina. Could it have been the tanks up on the service deck? Where Sun and Jelko are?"

"I suppose--"

"Damn, we gotta go help them. They could be hurt." John was already halfway out of the crawlspace they'd been working in by the time he finished the last sentence, his flashlight beam weaving wildly in front of him.

"John, no!" Gilina cried. He didn't stop, and continued to ignore her as she called after him. "John, they ordered us to stay here!"

He ran headlong for the door leading to the adjacent bay, and was halfway up the stairway, heading for the access door to the service bay, before his brain caught up with his instincts. Gilina was right, to a point. He'd catch ten kinds of hell if he was wrong and burst in on a gunfight without orders.

But, unlike his dad, John had never been much of one for strict military discipline or taking pointless orders. Based on what he'd heard of that explosion and seen of the secondary effects, it had to be serious. The PKs might really need help, and he wasn't going to let something as trivial as a mere direct order stop him.

On reaching the access port, John reached out and touched it gingerly, recalling old childhood lessons about not opening doors that were hot. The surface was faintly warm, but not dangerously so. He hoped.

The door swung up and opened easily, a well-balanced mechanism, so far uncompromised by time or corrosion. He stuck his head carefully up to peek into the service bay.

"Holy shit," he breathed, horrified. The picture before him was eerily reminiscent of a building in Oklahoma City he'd seen on the news a few years back. It was like a giant alligator had taken a bite out of the room, leaving bits of metal and wiring hanging loose and sparking erratically on all sides. The tanks on the floor were indeed burning vigorously, many of them having blown themselves to bits and ignited their neighbors. The fire was spreading. Smoke billowed upwards, casting a pall over the scene, and it was already thick enough to make him cough, even at floor level.

It took a moment for John to locate the officers he'd come looking for. Jelko was lying on the mesh floor of the highest catwalk, two levels above him. He was apparently unconscious, and lying almost directly over the worst of the fire.

Aeryn was harder to find, but John finally spotted her sprawled awkwardly on the floor halfway across the deck. She looked like she'd fallen, and landed badly on a pile of debris. Her face was obscured by blood and hair, but John could see her fighting for breath in the thickening smoke, so he knew she was still alive.

Within microts, John had rushed across the deck and pulled the woman into his arms. He dragged her back to the hatchway and down to the first landing of the stairwell. Gilina was there, having followed him against her better judgement, and he asked her to look after Officer Sun while he went back for Jelko. Gilina had had some med tech training as a cadet, before she'd been steered into a maintenance specialty, so she knew basically what to do.

They could both feel the heat radiating down from the room above, and Gilina tried once again to object. "It's too hot, John! You'll never make it!"

Crichton just shook his head and climbed back towards the burning room. He'd only be in there a few minutes; he'd survive. _Just pretend you're Kurt Russell in _Backdraft, he thought hysterically, wishing he had one of those fireproof coats and a big-brimmed hat to protect himself, instead of this lightweight, tech-issue jumpsuit.

The catwalk Jelko was on had been blown loose from its anchors at one end and was teetering precariously over the burning tanks. John bounded up the one remaining staircase that gave access to that level and raced across the maze of walkways, ducking through damaged and hanging wires, praying he wouldn't get a nasty shock from anything. Fortunately, the ship's old-style partanium power core was almost completely depleted after all these cycles, only providing a bare minimum of environmentals and gravity, and not much else.

Well, Gilina had been right about one thing: it was frelling hot up here, with the waves of heat and smoke rising from the inferno below. The railings and supports were scalding, too hot to hold onto. Jelko was probably going to have some nasty burns from lying on the metal grating. Moving with great care, so as not to jostle anything loose, John eased across the walkway to the man's unconscious form. A quick check confirmed that he had a pulse and was still breathing, though he did appear to be suffering from some kind of constant, small seizures. Perhaps he'd hit his head. Shrugging mentally, John heaved the soldier into a fireman's carry and headed back down.

By the time John staggered down the stairs with the increasingly heavy body of Officer Jelko, Aeryn Sun was coughing and hacking her way into a semblance of consciousness. The fall had left her with a number of visible injuries, cuts and bruises forming all over. She was greatly disoriented and confused at first, seemingly unable to track a train of thought to the end of a sentence when Gilina asked her questions. Combined with the nasty cut on her scalp, John decided she must have a severe concussion, and hoped it wasn't anything worse.

John couldn't find any obvious wounds or marks on Jelko that would explain his unresponsiveness or the constant twitches and shudders that wracked his extremities. Gilina moved across from where she'd been assisting Officer Sun and examined him. She peeled back his eyelids for a moment, shining her own hand-held light into them, then sat back on her heels and sighed.

Sun reached an arm over to touch her and seemed to pose a question with her eyes. Instead of responding, however, the blonde tech turned to Crichton. "Could you go back up and close the hatch, John?" she asked. "The heat is getting uncomfortable, and isn't good for any of us."

John paused, nonplussed, but nodded and headed up the stairs to do as she asked.

Just as he was pulling the door closed, however, the report of a pulse pistol sounded from behind and below him. Whirling around, he saw Aeryn Sun, still lying prone on the landing below, holding her gun in a trembling, outstretched hand. It was pointed at her commanding officer, who was now quite obviously dead. Gilina was still kneeling between them, her head bowed as if in prayer.

"What the hell did you do?" John cried, horrified. He rushed down the stairs two at a time and snatched the pistol out of Aeryn's hand. She was still weak and let go far too easily. "What was that, Aeryn, a standard Peacekeeper promotion? Trying to rise through the ranks?" His voice dripped with anger and scorn. To kill a man while he was lying helpless and unconscious... he'd thought she had more honor than that. And why hadn't Gilina tried to stop her?

The dark-haired woman just looked up at him with an expression of combined sadness and confusion. "No," she murmured, almost too quietly to be heard. "M-mercy...." Her voice trailed away to nothing as she lost consciousness again.

Crichton snorted derisively. "Mercy, my ass," he muttered, shaking his head in disgust. He hadn't liked Jelko much, but no one deserved this.

"John," Gilina said quietly, raising her head at last, "she was right, and she had no choice. There was nothing else we could do. It was the Living Death."

"Living what? What the hell does that mean? He got knocked out, maybe slightly charbroiled, but otherwise he looked fine!"

"It was the heat, John. Heat delirium, irreversible. Aeryn's got a mild case, but she'll recover. Since you were able to go into that inferno twice and show no signs, I'm assuming Humans don't suffer from it."

John shook his head, confused. "The heat did something to them?"

"We Sebaceans can't handle high temperatures. The original Sebacean homeworld was extremely temperate, with an almost perfectly circular orbit around its star and only one degree of polar tilt. It had no seasons, and little variation in weather or temperature. No point on the planet was ever measured a temperature above optimum plus five in all of recorded history, so the species that evolved there never needed to develop any of the heat tolerances that races from most other worlds have."

"You're telling me that you--all of you--you're cold blooded?" They looked so human that he sometimes expected them to be the same in every other way. It was a shock to realize that there were such fundamental differences.

"No, we maintain a higher-than-ambient body temperature, as you do, and we can function in colder environments as well as any other race. Better than some; the Scarrans _hate_ the cold. We simply can't handle our cells overheating. Heat delirium symptoms start appearing at approximately optimum plus eight, and progress gradually from short term memory loss through loss of motor coordination, and finally to long term memory. At higher temperatures, like near that fire, the condition progresses faster, and if the body isn't cooled in time, it reaches a stage we call the Living Death. Even if you cool the body completely after that, it never recovers, and will live on indefinitely in that state--paralyzed, brain-damaged, and in constant pain."

"So you kill them, to put them out of their misery?"

"It's the only thing we can do; there's no treatment, and no cure. None of us wants to live like that, knowing we'll never recover. Officer Sun overcame her own injuries and heat delirium to give Senior Officer Jelko his final peace, because it was her duty. He would have thanked her for it, had he been able."

John sat down on the stairs and cradled his head between his fists, remembering the hurtful accusations he'd spouted in his ignorance. "Guess I owe Aeryn an apology when she wakes up, don't I?"

Gilina, kindly, said nothing.

John dragged Jelko's body down the stairs to the floor of the weapons bay and covered it with a tarpaulin he found in an old supply crate, then came back to sit with Gilina while she tended to their remaining injured soldier. They stayed where they were. With the fire blocking access from above, they were in just about the most secure part of the ship, and there really wasn't anything two techs, with one pulse pistol between them-- which neither of them knew how to use with any skill--could do against the Sheyang scavengers overrunning the ship.

Officer Sun faded in and out of consciousness. John had been partly right; her confusion was due as much to a head injury as to the moderate heat delirium, and did not improve much even when her temperature stabilized.

He was growing more worried about her as time went on, though not for that reason. During her conscious periods, Aeryn had demonstrated ability to move her head and arms, assuring Gilina that no bones were broken. Her legs, however, never moved. John remembered how he'd found her, sprawled across an uneven surface after an apparent fall from a higher point. A spinal injury was a real possibility, and there was a good chance he'd made it worse by moving her.

It had been a life-or-death situation, and leaving her where she was had not been an option. He knew that. The fire had been spreading, and there would be no ambulance with flashing red lights and competent paramedics rushing to the scene. She'd have died if he hadn't moved her, but that didn't diminish the guilt he'd feel if it turned out she was paralyzed because of him.

Finally, John simply couldn't sit still any longer. "Gilina, I'm going to go see if the Sheyangs are still lurking around out there. Maybe I can find Esk, or Fala and Saitek. "

"John, no, it's too dangerous," Gilina pleaded.

"I'll keep my head down. I can't just sit here, and we'll need a way off this boat at some point. But we need to know if the bad guys are going to be coming after us, or if they're just gonna take what they want and leave."

Gilina relented with a sigh, then tried to hand John Officer Sun's pulse pistol. He waved it off, shaking his head. "Keep it; you might want it. And Ms. PK over here would probably kill me bare-handed if she found out I'd taken her gun."

"Then take Officer Jelko's, John. He certainly doesn't need it anymore."

John finally nodded, reluctantly. Jelko's pistol had still been securely fastened in its holster, though both his and Sun's rifles had been left behind in the service bay. Carrying a weapon wasn't something John had ever done before, not really. He didn't want to start, even now, but Gilina was right that it might come in handy. Better to have it and not need it, he rationalized, than to need it and not have it.

After arranging to have Gilina come check for his return every arn, since he wouldn't be able to open the escape hatch from the outside, John crawled out into the dank, cramped tunnels in search of trouble.

Surprisingly, it took him a while to find it. The carrier was a huge ship, and even a hundred Sheyangs could have wandered the endless corridors without him ever meeting up with one. He kept to the ducts and hidden passageways, and finally stumbled on a group of the ugly creatures who were busy ripping apart some consoles John didn't recognize. They didn't talk much among themselves, but after a few minutes one of them stepped aside to answer a hail from their ship.

"Lomus," called a deep, slow voice through the coms, "are you certain the vessel is secure?"

"Yes, Teurac. The Peacekeeper Marauders carry crews of five. We killed two on their ship, one in the corridors, and the other two burned up in the weapons bay. The vessel is ours. There is not much of value left, but we have gleaned what we can."

John almost swore aloud, but managed to bite his tongue. If the bastard was telling the truth, then he and Gilina and Aeryn were all that were left of the original seven members of the expedition. It was fortunate that the Sheyangs didn't know they'd had a higher-than-normal crew complement for the scientific foray.

The voice on the coms returned. "Gather your unit and return to the ship, Lomus. Our holds are at capacity. We will return later for the rest, including the Marauder. That alone will fetch a fine price."

"Agreed. We will return within the arn."

John slipped back into the shadows and began retracing his steps to the weapons bay where he'd left the others. They had work to do.

TBC ...


	5. Outside the Box

**Episode**** 4 - ****Outside the Box****  
**

_"Are you with me...or them?" -- Aeryn Sun_

The stars outside the forward window didn't seem to move at all, no matter how long he stared at them. Hetch two sounded pretty impressive when you converted it into miles per hour, but here and now, it was just a slow way to get nowhere. It would take months--monens, John reminded himself--to get back to Peacekeeper space at this speed.

But, considering this Marauder was being held together with spit and chewing gum, and they were all out of chewing gum, John supposed they were lucky to be making any headway at all.

They were also flying nearly blind. The navigational computer was trashed. It had been broken down into three sections for use in repairing one of the command carrier's weapons. One piece had still been aboard the Marauder, and they had recovered and reinstalled the one they'd left back in the frag cannon bay. The third piece, though, they had found on their trek back, still clutched in the arms of Crewman Esk. Weighed down as he'd been by the bulky equipment, Esk hadn't had a chance. Both he and the console were burnt almost beyond recognition, by the Sheyang invaders he'd stumbled across on his return trip.

Saitek and Fala, who had stayed behind in the Marauder to fix the battle damage, had fared no better. Saitek's charred body lay where he'd been working, in the engine room, but Fala had at least managed to put up a good fight. That fight, though, had unfortunately left the Marauder in ten times worse shape than it had been in when they landed.

The dozen blasted and mangled fighter pods littering the airless hangar around the Marauder showed Fala's heroic efforts to keep the invaders at bay with the ship's small cannons. At least one, however, had gotten through and locked onto the hull. When the intruder burst into the command chamber, Fala had apparently drawn his pistol and fired before the Sheyang could spit a single fireball.

Perhaps Fala hadn't listened well enough to his trainers, and hadn't known about Sheyangs and pulse fire. Or perhaps there simply hadn't been time to do anything but react. But whatever the reason, that shot had been Fala's last act, as the explosion blew both him and many systems there in command to pieces.

There was a rustle behind John and he turned to see Gilina trudging listlessly into the room. She looked worn and exhausted, close to physical collapse. Crossing the room to meet her, John took her into a firm embrace and led her to one of the few seats in the room.

"Sit," he ordered, smiling. "Relax for two microts, would you? The ship will probably hold together without you for that long."

Gilina smiled wanly at his attempts to cheer her up. When he handed her a packet of food cubes, she tore into them ravenously.

John watched with amusement as she inhaled the tasteless rations. The fact that they were making any progress at all, or even that they'd escaped the _Zelbinion_ before the Sheyangs returned, was due almost entirely to Gilina's skill and tireless efforts. John had once joked that she and her fellow techs could build a command carrier from the ground up, and she'd just about proven him right with this Marauder. She had taken a vessel with no navigation, damaged engines, and a control center that was all but destroyed in an explosion, cannibalized non-essential components--like the sensors from the wormhole experiments or the Farscape's hetch drive--and produced something that would fly again.

She'd remained just as busy since they escaped, keeping the jerry-rigged systems running when they threatened to fly apart at the seams. John wasn't sure she'd slept in days.

Well, truth to tell, neither had he, much. In addition to helping Gilina with repairs, his task, as the lone, able-bodied pilot among them, had been to learn to fly a Marauder, with no instructor and no manual. Sure, he'd been a test pilot, but this was taking things a bit far. He'd taken Gilina's engineer's-eye view of what each control did and tried to translate that into real flying.

They'd only run into the walls of the hangar bay twice.

Once they'd gotten out into open space, his technique was less of an issue. He set a course as best he could with their lobotomized navigational computer, then went aft to help Gilina most of the time. He was seriously considering suggesting that they shut everything down for a few arns to get some sleep, and keeping their fingers crossed that nothing blew up in the meantime.

Before he could offer the idea for debate, however, Gilina looked up and muttered around her mouthful of food cubes, "Officer Sun is awake."

His breath caught. He'd carried the wounded woman back to the Marauder on a makeshift stretcher, including fitting her unresponsive body back into her pressure suit for the last stretch across the evacuated sections. The Marauder's tiny, automated medical bay had fortunately been undamaged in the fracas, and had been working on her ever since, keeping her in a sedated, stasis-like condition to aid healing. But the readings on the scanners had confirmed John's worst fears: the injury to her spinal cord was beyond its ability to address.

"How is she?" he asked, dreading the answer.

"Physically, other than the paralysis, she's completely healed," Gilina replied, swallowing the last of her meal. "She made me tell her the prognosis. After that, she didn't say anything."

"Will the med techs on the carrier be able to repair the rest of the damage?"

"I doubt it, John. I only received basic medical training as a cadet, but I don't remember anything about being able to regenerate damaged spinal tissue. Maybe something could have been done if she'd been on the carrier when it happened, but the older the damage, the more likely it will be permanent."

"Damn. I figured with all your technology you folks would have something better. So what'll they do, assign her to some kind of non-combat duty?"

Gilina shook her head, her expression one of wistful sadness and pity. "If she were of high rank or had powerful connections, then maybe High Command would overlook the disability. But when line soldiers are permanently crippled or become too old to be effective...they're often killed, or discarded on some planet."

"Why the hell would they put up with that?" John demanded, appalled.

"It's accepted doctrine, John. When a soldier becomes a burden to her unit, it's better for the unit to be released of that burden."

"Damn it, there's all sorts of things Aeryn can still do! She doesn't have to be a burden to anyone!"

"They won't see it that way. And neither will Officer Sun."

The words sent a chill of dread up John's spine. With nerveless hands, he fumbled for another container of food cubes.

"I... I'm gonna go see if she's hungry," John stuttered, not waiting for a reply as he walked out to the corridor.

**

* * *

**

In the darkness of the cramped med chamber, with the familiar sounds of a lifetime of living on space ships surrounding her, Aeryn Sun existed in a bubble of self-imposed mental stillness. She had lost everything she'd ever aspired for: her career, her duty, even her chance to die gloriously in battle. That last, at least, should have been hers, but the privilege had been stolen from her, by chance and the misplaced charity of a lesser species refugee and an ignorant tech.

So focused was she on her own cocoon of misery that she didn't notice her visitor until he cleared his throat from the doorway. Her head snapped around at that and she glared daggers at the human interloper.

Crichton visibly recoiled at the look, but recovered enough to mutter, "Um...I brought...I thought you might be hungry, so I...." He held out a container of food cubes, like he was feeding an animal that might just decide to take his hand off instead.

Aeryn ignored the gesture, and the food, not moving a muscle. "Why did you bring me here?" she finally asked, her voice still slightly rough from disuse and smoke.

Now the human looked puzzled. "What do you mean? Where else would we have taken you?"

"You should have left me there. Expending effort on a dead or disabled soldier is a waste of valuable resources and endangers the mission."

Crichton's expression passed through confusion and ended at anger. "Don't you go quoting the Peacekeeper rule book at me, lady; I'm not one of you. And just at the moment, I've never been happier about that. You aren't dead. I'm sorry about your legs, and I wish I could fix them, but just because you got hurt doesn't mean you aren't still an important part of this crew. We need you. The three of us are all we have left. Now here, take some food cubes, you need to get your strength back."

Officer Sun turned away, ignoring both words and food. The man's sentimentality was sickening, a weakness that should have doomed his race to extinction millennia ago.

She was a warrior, destined--or so she'd believed--to die in battle, honorably. No matter what the human thought, by all rational Peacekeeper definitions, she _was_ already dead. Now it was just a matter of convincing these frelling idiots--and her obtuse, still-breathing corpse--of that reality.

**

* * *

**

Half a solar day later, John still hadn't managed to make a dent in Aeryn Sun's self-isolating Peacekeeper shell. She wouldn't let him help her.

"John," Gilina finally said, after watching John try yet again to cajole the injured soldier back to the land of the living, "I don't understand why you're so concerned about Officer Sun."

"Damn it, Gilina, she's a hum...she's a sentient person with as much right to live as you or I. She isn't helpless, or useless. On my world, a disability like this isn't a death sentence. Yes, being paralyzed or losing a limb is traumatic and painful, and I'm sorry as hell that I might be partly to blame for her condition. But I am not going to apologize for saving her life, and I'm not going to let her give up on herself just because the damn Peacekeepers think she's not worth keeping."

"But when we get back to the carrier, there will be no place for her as she is. She knows that, even if you don't," she argued.

John was silent, staring at the image of stars on the view screen, for a long moment. Finally, he said in a quiet voice, almost to himself, "Then maybe that's not where we should be going."

"W-w-what!?" Gilina gasped, stepping away from him as if he'd suggested a swim in vacuum without a suit.

John looked down at the console. He'd been thinking about this for a while, and had expected this kind of reaction. "'Lina," he said, looking up into her eyes, expression almost pleading, "I'm not a Peacekeeper. I wouldn't want to be. I've lived among you for half a cycle now, but I've never been welcome. And some of the things I've learned about the way you operate really creep me out sometimes.

"Don't get me wrong, though, I'm not sorry to have spent that time on the carrier. I would never have made it on my own, and I learned a lot while I was there. But most importantly, I got to meet you." John watched Gilina out of the corner of his eyes at that, wondering what reaction he might get. Their brief interlude on the _Zelbinion_ had been interrupted too quickly, and Gilina hadn't brought the subject up since. Admittedly, there hadn't been time for much of anything, but John had found himself wondering if the whole incident had been brought on by Gilina's fears and the stress of waiting. She'd spent her entire life in the safety and regimented existence of a command carrier, so she wasn't used to being in danger.

Once things started happening, though, Gilina had pulled her nerves together and done what was necessary. Perhaps, now that things had calmed, she'd come to her senses and decided her attraction to John had been nothing but hormones.

She showed no expression, so he went on. "I was never really working on wormholes for the Peacekeepers, Gilina, no matter what the captain or anyone else may have thought. I was doing it for me. The only thing I really want--have wanted since the beginning--is to go home. But it's looking like I may have to live out here for a while, and I'd rather do it someplace where I can have friends. That's what I miss most, I think: having people around me who understand, who I can talk to.

"I don't need the Peacekeepers anymore, Gilina; I've learned enough now to survive and study wormholes on my own. I don't want to go back, and Aeryn, as you pointed out, _can't _go back."

The tech finally found her voice again. "But what about me, John? Peacekeepers is all I've ever known. You talk about being away from your home, but you're talking about taking me away from mine. How would I live?" She was hugging herself, not looking him in the eyes.

John chuckled, his eyes glowing with emotion. "Darlin'," he said, "with skills as good as yours, you could make it anywhere."

"And what if I don't _want_ to make it anywhere? What if I want to go back?"

"I'm not gonna force a decision on you," he assured her. "My people have a saying, though: 'Home is where the heart is'. I could be wrong, but I never got the feeling you had many friends back on the carrier. Is there anyone you'd really miss? You seemed to spend all your free time with me. Do you want to go back because you want to be there, or because you're afraid of what you'll find out here?"

Gilina stared at him, like the concept was foreign to her. "I suppose...Betal and I were in the same creche group, and we talked once in a while...." She trailed off, unable to think of anything else.

"Were you happy there?"

"I don't know."

John nodded. "Once we get Aeryn back on her feet--metaphorically speaking, if not literally--we can talk about what you want to do. Okay?"

She thought for a long moment, then nodded. "But John," she said quietly, "what if Officer Sun won't accept your help?"

He grimaced. "Damn, I wish we had one of those hover-sled things that green toad...critter...alien...whatever, had."

Gilina perked up a bit at that, intrigued. "Hover chair?"

"Yeah, when I first got here, half a cycle ago, Aeryn and I were being held captive on that escaped Leviathan. There was this little green guy, one of the prisoners--don't remember the name, but he farted helium, which I found really bizarre--anyway, he was zipping around all over the place in this levitating chair. Wish we had one in extra large for Aeryn. Be even better than a wheelchair."

"Oh, a Hynerian throne sled. I've heard of them."

As her voice trailed off, John looked at Gilina's face. He could see the gears turning behind her eyes. "You've got that look, baby. The one you get when you're about to demonstrate your superior Peacekeeper brilliance." He smirked. It was an old joke between them; she teased him about his primitive human perspective just as often. He was about to ask what she was pondering when they both heard a loud crash from down the passageway, followed by a string of frustrated profanity.

Gilina smiled mischievously at John's consternation. "I've got an idea. You go help Officer Sun, John. What I have in mind will take some doing, but if it works, it should solve her immediate problems."

"And you're not going to tell me, are you?"

"I want it to be a surprise. You'll understand when I'm done."

**

* * *

**

"Crichton, get the frell away from me and leave me alone!"

"Damn it, Aeryn, just let me help!"

"I don't want your help. I don't want your pity. I don't want any of your frelling sentimental dren!" What would it take to make this pathetic being go away? He was staying just out of range for a pantak jab.

Suddenly, the human's voice dropped from the yelling register they'd been using down to more normal conversation. "Y'know, I heard all the stories, 'bout the big, bad Peacekeepers and their glorious victories and how they ain't afraid of nuthin'." The inflection in his voice was odd, drawling and slow. "Who would'a figured you'd turn out to be such a chicken?"

Her fingers clenched into the mattress, with visions of digging the nails into a human throat. She didn't know what a 'cheekin' was, but knew it was not complimentary. "I should kill you for that!"

"Truth hurts, don't it, darlin'? You're so afraid of what might happen, it's easier to just curl up and die, that right? Just because some lousy rule somewhere says you should?"

"What the hezmana do you know about it, Crichton? Don't pretend to understand me."

"Oh, I think I might have a clue. See, my best friend, back on Earth? His uncle Greg, back when we were kids, came home from a war with both legs blown off above the knee. But, you see, unlike your Peacekeepers, the military he served in doesn't throw their soldiers away when they get hurt."

"Right. What do they have him doing now, serving drinks in the mess hall?"

"Oh, you think you're so frelling smart, don't you Ms. Sun? Just so happens that dear old Uncle Greg went back to school, courtesy of the U.S. Army, and became an engineer, just like his father, and his brother, and later his nephew. Last I heard, he was designing high-tech weapons and stealth systems for the military."

Aeryn was silent for a moment, thinking about that, but her ruminations were interrupted when the whole ship lurched suddenly sideways. There was a dizzying moment when the gravity wavered, and then it cut out completely, leaving them in free fall.

"John!" Gilina's voice broke in suddenly through the coms. "The whole inertial system just overloaded and blew out. We're spinning off course; get up to the helm and see if you can get us back under control."

"Right. I'll do what I can, Gilina, but I'm still pretty much fumbling my way around up there with guesswork and luck."

Aeryn snorted. "I could fly this ship better than you, human, even without my legs, and with one arm tied behind me."

"Probably, Aeryn," Crichton said off-handedly, "but unfortunately you're too much of a coward to get your ass out of that bed to prove it."

The response was immediate and swift. With just her arms, Aeryn launched herself off the bed and through the air, catching the offending human unprepared with a perfect Pantak jab. Crichton's unconscious form spun lazily across the room away from her, until his head slammed soundly into a wall and he rebounded much more slowly. Aeryn, however, was no longer watching. Taking advantage of the lack of gravity, which gave her back the mobility she'd lost, she was headed directly for the command deck and the helm to wrestle this Marauder back under control.

**

* * *

**

The cold cloth against his pounding head made John flinch, which of course just made his head hurt more. He groaned loudly.

"I'm sorry, John," Gilina said, still holding the cold cloth against the large lump on his head, "this wasn't part of the plan."

"Wish you'd warned me what you were doing," he griped half-heartedly.

"If you'd known, you wouldn't have been surprised, and it wouldn't have worked if Officer Sun had realized it was deliberate. With the ship in zero G, she'll be able to move around as well as before. That should help her morale, don't you think?"

"Yeah, yeah, you're right. She won't need our help to move around anymore, and her unwillingness to accept help was her biggest obstacle. How long was I out?"

"Less than half an arn. Everything's stabilized now; she got to the control center and got the ship back under control less than a hundred microts after I blew out the grav system."

"Yeah, she was moving pretty fast, I do remember that much. Probably shouldn't have pissed her off like that, but at the time I thought it was the only thing that would get her moving."

"Well, it worked. I don't think you have a concussion."

"I wish this ship weren't so small. I have a feeling I should stay out of Ms. Sun's way for a few days."

Gilina smiled wryly. "You're probably right, John. Just stay off the command deck; I got the impression she intended to be there for a while. I think she missed it."

"It'll be nice to have someone up there who knows what they're doing. And it will be even more nice to be able to spend more time with you, Gilina."

She smiled back at him, eyes bright.

**

* * *

**

Late in the ship's night, Aeryn slipped free of the tethers that kept her stationary and pushed herself up off her bunk. There was no way she was going to get any sleep for a while.

_I suppose they don't realize how small this ship really is, and how thin the internal bulkheads are,_ she mused, torn between amusement and annoyance. Her initial horror at the relationship between the human and the tech had faded, though she'd tried to maintain it. Recreation with an alien ought to disgust her, but it was hard to remember sometimes that Crichton was an alien. Besides, they were a long way from the command carrier's strict regulations; maybe she was just going soft.

Pulling on a shirt with practiced ease, Aeryn pulled herself out of her quarters and up to the helm. Might as well do something useful until they were finished.

Once in the command chamber, she arrested her trajectory with the expertise of much practice by grabbing the back of the pilot's chair. Once seated, she used the 'seat belt' Crichton had installed for her to secure herself, then glanced over the panels.

The Marauder was finally approaching a more populated area of space, and they would soon have to pick a course for a planet where they could negotiate for repairs and supplies. In the monen and a half since they'd left the wrecked carrier, Tech Renaez had cobbled together a better set of controls and a makeshift interface with what remained of the navigational computer. Aeryn pulled up what little information was available in the files. There wasn't much on this part of space--they didn't call it the Uncharted Territories for nothing--but there were a few references to non-hostile commerce planets and supply outposts. Some even carried notations of Peacekeeper influence, though that influence was likely to be covert.

The sensor panel by Aeryn's left elbow suddenly started chiming an alarm. Touching a couple of buttons, she brought up an image of the anomalous sensor readings that had set it off. After a moment spent staring at the picture in disbelief, she toggled the coms open.

"Crichton, Renaez, I hate to interrupt, but you'll want to come up to command. There's something here you need to see."

There were a couple of muffled--and faintly frustrated--acknowledgements before the signal was cut off again. A hundred microts later, her two shipmates floated through the door, still furtively adjusting clothing and trying to look innocent.

Before either of them could ask, Aeryn transferred the sensor image to the main screen. Almost instantly, she heard the human gasp.

"I am assuming that is what I think it is, correct?" Aeryn asked.

"That's a wormhole," Crichton breathed, voice hushed with awe.

The electric blue funnel shape dipped and spun on the screen, hanging in space less than a hundred metras from their treblin side. Aeryn continued. "I assumed you would both want to take the opportunity to observe this phenomenon, since you have expended so much time and effort studying them and trying to create one of your own."

Suddenly, the wormhole shifted and they all caught a brief glimpse of something inside. "Can you pull in on that image, Aeryn?" John asked, breathless with excitement.

She increased the magnification until they could all discern the image of a blue and white planet at the other end of the wormhole.

"Oh my God," Crichton said.

Aeryn looked up at him, surprised by the strong emotion in the human's voice.

"That's Earth. That's my home."

**

* * *

**

It took a few moments, but the dead silence in the room finally dragged John's attention away from the amazing, impossible view. Officer Sun was very pointedly not looking at him, but Gilina's gaze was full of sadness and loss.

In a flash, he realized that both women expected him to jump in his module this very minute and fly away, without a thought for them. He supposed that sort of self-absorbed opportunism was all they'd ever known or been raised to expect, but it was disappointing that Gilina, at least, didn't know him better than that.

"So," he said, ignoring their assumptions, "we have a decision to make."

"What decision?" Gilina asked. "That's your homeworld out there, John. It's what you've been searching for for the last half cycle. It's what you've been working for. You're going home."

"The decision is not about what _I_ am going to do, it's about what _we_ are going to do. I'm not going to just abandon you out here in the middle of nowhere." He looked squarely at Aeryn, finally catching her eye. "Either of you. In fact, I would like to extend an invitation to both of you."

"Are you seriously suggesting that we come with you to that primitive excuse for a planet?" Sun asked incredulously.

"Aeryn, think about it. You can't go back to the Peacekeepers, and you can't just fly around out here with the gravity shut off for the rest of your life."

"What do you mean--" Aeryn began in a dangerous tone.

"And Gilina," John said quickly, bulling his way past that unfortunate revelation, hoping Aeryn would write it off to a poor choice of words or a faulty translation. "I know you think you want to go back, but in Peacekeepers you're just one tech among thousands, and your extraordinary gifts are being wasted there. On Earth, you could be the one to lead a population of billions into a whole new era, to the stars and beyond. But even aside from that, I'd like you to come with me. For more...personal reasons."

Gilina looked panicked, torn in two by fear and desire. Aeryn spoke into the tense silence.

"Whether or not I can go back to the Peacekeepers is irrelevant, Crichton," she insisted. "What possible use could I be on your world? You've said your people have never made contact with alien life before. I'd be an object of curiosity, something for your people to gawk at, nothing more. And on a planet, I'd be stuck in one place again."

"Damn it, Aeryn," John exploded, "in case you don't remember, you thought I was Sebacean when we met. Did it ever occur to you that the reverse would be true? You and Gilina could walk down any street on Earth and never be thought anything but human. And on the other topic, like I tried to tell you before, you aren't helpless. There are millions of people on my planet who live happy, productive, _mobile_ lives without the use of their legs. Hell, one of the greatest leaders we had in the past century--a man who led his country for over a dozen years, through a worldwide economic crisis and a global war--was confined to a wheelchair!"

There was silence from the dark-haired woman.

"Look at it this way, then; what have you really got to lose?"

Aeryn shook her head emphatically. "I cannot abandon my duty. I am a soldier; it's what I was bred for, trained for--"

"Aeryn." John waited until she looked into his eyes, and then spoke with intense sincerity. "You can be more."

He stared at her, drilling the message into her until she finally looked away, and then turned his gaze to Gilina, wordlessly including her in that affirmation.

No one spoke for an interminable time. John saw the wormhole on the screen wavering a bit more and worried that it was losing stability, but didn't want to upset the others' decisions by mentioning it.

Finally, Aeryn turned away from John to look over her shoulder at the blonde tech. Their eyes met, and after a couple of microts of silent conversation, Gilina nodded. Without another word spoken, Aeryn threw the Marauder into a tight left turn and flew it straight into the mouth of the wormhole.

John grinned. _Watch out world! John Crichton's coming home! _

**

* * *

**

Aeryn lay on the hard, unpadded bench in the cell the humans had so kindly provided them. It was eerily reminiscent of her brief time on the escaped Leviathan over half a cycle ago, with a bunch of suspicious and downright hostile aliens staring at her from outside.

This time, however, it was Crichton who was the belligerent prisoner. He'd been understanding at first, assuring the two Sebaceans that this was the standard procedure. They'd wanted to confirm that he really was John Crichton. ("They've watched too much sci-fi," John had joked early on, "They think maybe I've been cloned, or I'm an evil robot, or something.") But now, after two days, many hundreds of questions, and a fair number of suggestions about medical exams that John refused vehemently, he was getting, in his own words, 'riled up'.

During the past monen on the Marauder, Aeryn had started learning to accept an cope with her injury. In the free-fall environment, the paralysis of her legs had not hindered her much at all. A tiny part of her had even begun pondering the idea of life away from the Peacekeepers. It had been that small voice inside her that had listened to the human's argument for coming to Earth and made the impulsive decision to change course.

But now, trapped once again by the force of gravity, unable to perform even the most basic necessities without assistance--which she accepted only reluctantly--the feelings of hopelessness and despair were taking over once again.

She didn't blame Crichton. He'd been absolutely correct that she'd had nothing to lose by coming here. But unfortunately, it seemed, she'd also had nothing to gain.

There was a commotion from the chamber outside the cell, and Aeryn turned her head to look. A white-haired man, obviously angry and with an air of command, was talking loudly to the lead interrogator. Inside the cell, John spotted the man at the same moment and ran for the glass wall, shouting, "Dad!"

The sound from outside cut out almost immediately as the man called Wilson ordered the intercom shut off. John yelled a few more times, pointlessly, then subsided. For a few moments, he simply watched the two men argue outside the cell, and then he turned to Aeryn and Gilina with a smirk. "This should be fun to watch. Getting between my dad and any one of his kids is not a smart move. Wilson's about to get his head handed to him...assuming someone can pull it out of his ass first."

Aeryn and Gilina looked at each other and shook their heads. One of the few things they had in common was their mutual, amused incomprehension of some of John's more colorful expressions.

Within microts, the silent battle outside the window was over, and the victor was obvious. Wilson, the paranoid and suspicious 'spook', was standing aside and looking cowed. John's father was entering the cell, the first human to do so since they'd been brought here two days ago.

John moved across the cell to meet him. There was some quiet conversation which Aeryn could only hear bits and pieces of, most of which didn't register with the translator microbes. "Annapolis...fishing...trout...."

Whatever the substance of the discussion, the two men were soon hugging each other and nearly in tears. She'd never seen so much emotion expressed so blatantly. She'd always been taught that emotion was weakness, emotion must be controlled.

John turned around once they broke apart and led his father over to Aeryn and Gilina. "Dad," he said, "there's a couple of people here I'd like you to meet."

The older man nodded at the two women, eyeing them cautiously.

"In the reclining position," John began, eyes twinkling as he gently teased her, "we have Officer Aeryn Sun."

Aeryn nodded, not saying anything since it wouldn't be understood anyway.

"And this," John continued, putting one arm gently around the other woman's shoulders, "is Gilina Renaez. Gilina, Aeryn, this is my father, Colonel Jack Crichton."

Jack's eyes lingered for a moment on his son's familiar gesture with the young blonde woman, and then he smiled kindly. "A pleasure, ladies," he said, bowing ever so slightly. "I apologize for the unpleasant treatment you've been receiving here; not all of us are as rude and unmannered as Wilson over there."

The man in question, listening intently from outside the cell, frowned unpleasantly.

"Dad?" John inquired, "Can we get someone to bring Aeryn a wheelchair? She was injured recently and her legs were paralyzed. We cut the gravity on the ship so she could move around--"

"Frelling slijnots," Aeryn muttered. "I should have known it wasn't an accident."

John continued, ignoring her gripe. "--but now that we're here, she needs to learn to get around on her own."

"It'll take some doing, son, but I think I can arrange something. We just have to convince Wilson and his cronies that you and your friends aren't any threat."

"The most dangerous one of us is Aeryn; just make sure nobody pisses her off, and everything will be fine." John grinned down at her, and she almost cracked a small smile herself. The bruise on Crichton's head from the pantak jab she'd applied--and the wall he'd hit a moment later--had almost completely faded, but enough remained to remind her that his observation was based on a grain of truth.

**

* * *

**

John laughed hysterically as Aeryn Sun popped her wheelchair into a wheelie. His dad had pulled a few strings and gotten DK's Uncle Greg to come show the paralyzed Sebacean that John hadn't been lying to her. Greg had assured her, quite seriously, that this maneuver was an advanced wheelchair technique, required for full mastery of the vehicle; she'd greatly impressed him when she managed to do it perfectly on her first try. Aeryn's initial reticence about her future was fading into something that might almost be called enthusiasm.

They'd finally been let out of the isolation cell, after almost two weeks. John and Gilina were now being kept busy giving the base engineers lessons in hetch drives and artificial gravity systems on the modified Farscape module and the wrecked Marauder. Aeryn had struggled with the crippled ship all the way down, but had only managed to achieve a controlled crash. When he could be spared from that, John was called into service to translate for Aeryn as she answered questions about space warfare, weapons, and tactics.

Some of the chief spooks, like Wilson and Cobb, were still looking at their guests like they were strange and dangerous lab animals, but John wasn't worried. After all, no one would actually try to dissect an alien who looked so human.

**

* * *

**

Using a credit card, John popped open the latch on the door and ushered Gilina inside, out of the rain. He locked the door behind them and then leaned his forehead against the wood surface, eyes closed. The past three hours had left no room for thinking, only action, but now they were safe, and he could no longer deny what he'd seen.

"John?" Gilina had to call his name three times before he could lift his head and look at her. "Can you explain what's going on now? Why did we leave the base? Where's Officer Sun?"

John turned his back to the door and sank down to the ground. "Aeryn's dead."

"Dead? What do you mean? What happened?"

"I should never have agreed to let them try the surgery. I should have known it was a ploy, that they couldn't actually repair her spinal cord. I just never thought they'd actually do it."

"Do what, John?"

"Their 'official' story is that she had a bad reaction to the anaesthetic. But when I got there, they were getting ready to do a real thorough 'autopsy'. They killed her, Gilina, and I should have seen it coming. That's why we had to leave; I was afraid they'd come after you next."

**

* * *

**

Aeryn opened her eyes and looked around. She was back in the isolation cell, and she was alone. Where were Crichton and Renaez? For that matter, where were the other humans? The whole building seemed strangely deserted all of a sudden.

Footsteps echoed in the empty room beyond the clear cell wall, and a single figure appeared outside, peering in at her. It was Crichton's father, Jack. She'd met him a number of times since they arrived, but hadn't spoken to him much.

"Colonel," she greeted him. "What's going on? Where is--" She stopped herself, realizing with a surge of annoyance that he wouldn't be able to understand her without his son there to translate.

"Have no fear, Aeryn Sun," the man spoke. "The test is almost concluded, and your role in it is already finished. Your companions will return to you soon, once John Crichton realizes what is happening."

Aeryn's brow furrowed. This did not sound like the Jack Crichton she's first met. This was some kind of test? "Then this is not Crichton's Earth?"

"No, it is a simulation, based on his memories."

"But it is accurate? This is what his planet is really like?"

"An approximation only. It lacks much of the complexity of his true home, aspects he either did not experience or only knew of indirectly. We could only create what he knew from personal experience. The people we simulated were essentially accurate, both the kindness and the cruelty, the welcome and the suspicion. Like most worlds, Crichton's is a study in contrasts."

"Who are you?" she asked suddenly.

"Our name would mean nothing to you. You may continue to call me Jack. I apologize for the inconvenience we have caused you, but I hope you will find our restitution adequate to repay."

"Restitution?" Aeryn asked, confused.

"The surgery you agreed to undergo was not merely a ruse for John Crichton's benefit. Our energy is limited, but our technology is advanced. Stand and walk, Aeryn Sun."

Until this moment, the surgery had been forgotten; she'd not held out much hope that the primitive human medical science could really fix anything. Over time, she'd grown to accept her new limitations and revel in the unexpected capabilities she still possessed.

She tried to do as Jack asked, believing, for some reason, in the alien's assertion that it was possible. For several moments, nothing happened, as her nervous system struggled to remember how to signal her legs to move. Then her right foot twitched, and her left knee straightened slightly, triggering a flush of emotion. Within just a few hundred microts, the connections were reactivated and she was standing up, though her legs were weak and her balance unsure.

"Your legs will regain their former strength quickly, Aeryn Sun," the human--alien--said with quiet satisfaction.

"Why...why did you do this for me?" she asked, sitting down once again. The muscles had lost all their endurance, having atrophied significantly over the past two monens of paralysis.

"It was in our power to help; how could we not?"

Aeryn had no response to that, but was saved from the awkwardness of silence by the sudden entrance of John Crichton through the far doors of the building.

"Who are you?!" he shouted, obviously enraged and only barely containing himself.

"You did well, John," the alien said, not looking over his shoulder at the approaching human. "Most species don't do as well."

"What is all this?" Crichton was getting closer, but hadn't spotted the figure sitting inside the cell yet.

"Everything here is a physical recreation from your memory."

"But, you're not real..."

"Well," the alien said, turning around at last. "I'm not your father."

"Crichton," Aeryn spoke at last, pulling the human's attention away from the man who both was and was not his father.

"Aeryn!" he cried, racing over and splaying his hands against the glass. "You're alive! They didn't kill you!"

Aeryn was taken aback by that. They'd made him think she was dead? Was that part of that 'test' they'd referred to? She couldn't find the words at that moment to tell him what had happened, so she did the only thing she could to explain. She stood up.

Crichton was dumbfounded. "You...you're...." he stuttered.

"Of course we didn't kill her. We created her corpse," Jack explained, sounding slightly put out.

"Why would you make me think she was dead?" John cried, turning towards the image of his father.

"We needed a human reaction, John. Your reaction."

**

* * *

**

Three arns later, the human, the soldier, and the tech were back aboard their Marauder. Part of the Ancients'--as John now termed them--restitution for their experiment had been to repair as many of the damaged systems on their ship as was possible with the materials on hand. The crash had been entirely simulated, so there was really no more damage than before, but much had been repaired anyway. It still wasn't 'like new', but Gilina wouldn't have to spend every waking microt babysitting the engines anymore.

The gravity was back on, as well, currently set at about half-strength to allow Aeryn to move about more easily. They would turn it up gradually as she regained her strength.

Aeryn watched silently as the human gazed out the forward view port. He'd said very little about what had transpired between him and the alien after they'd left the room.

"What is bothering you, Crichton?" she asked suddenly. The question surprised even her; where had that come from?

"Sorry, Aeryn," John said, glancing back at her. "I'm just trying to decide how to feel."

"I did not realize that was a conscious process for humans."

She could see him smile slightly and duck his head. "Usually it isn't. Part of me wants to be angry at them, for invading my mind, stealing my memories, playing games with my sense of reality. But then I look at you, and this ship, and I know they gave us much more than they took."

They were silent for a moment.

"So, how're you doing?" John asked, deflecting her attention away from himself.

Aeryn thought about it. The time they'd spent on 'Earth' had been both enlightening and confusing for her. Crichton had been right, annoyingly so, in his insistence that her injuries did not negate her usefulness. She'd been the Marauder's pilot for over a monen in free-fall, and even back in the gravity of a planet she'd learned to get around. There among the humans, for perhaps the first time, Aeryn had been more valued for her mind than for her physical prowess, and strangely enough, she'd found that immensely satisfying. And now, just when she had been learning to accept her new limitations, she was whole again, with options and decisions to make about her future.

But it wasn't just the Peacekeeper viewpoint on crippling injuries that Aeryn was questioning. Watching John interact with his father--simulation or no, to John it had been real and therefore his responses were genuine--had started her wondering. She found herself thinking, more often than she had in a very long time, about that night so many cycles ago when she'd woken to find a strange woman standing over her bunk. In defiance of all her training, Aeryn had always secretly wished she'd gotten to know that woman who called herself 'mother'. Seeing John with his father, no matter how unreal the situation had turned out to be, had given Aeryn a real sense of what she'd missed. Of what the Peacekeepers had denied her, with their injunctions against emotional ties.

For the first time, Aeryn was questioning the beliefs that had formed the foundation of her entire life, the wisdom and rightness of the Peacekeeper way. This alien--this human--had dropped into her life just half a cycle ago and had turned it upside-down. And now he was asking how she was doing?

"I'm fine, Crichton," she lied.

TBC...


	6. Scales From Their Eyes

**Episode**** 5 - ****Scales From Their Eyes****  
**

_"We can't survive like this any longer!" – Tanga_

Out of the corner of her eye, Aeryn saw John slip quietly into the command chamber. He snuck up behind Gilina, seated in the pilot's chair, and leaned over to rest his chin on her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"How's it goin', baby?" he asked lightly. "Crashed into any asteroids yet?"

Gilina reached up with one hand and smacked him lightly across the head. In response, John's arms tightened around her and his fingers sought out the ticklish spots along her ribs. Within microts, they had both dissolved into a puddle of giggles as she tried, half-heartedly, to fend him off.

Aeryn shook her head and turned away. Witnessing these two grow closer day by day was unavoidable, but she could at least allow them the illusion of privacy. Their constant small touches and whispers in passing,and the sheer unfettered playfulness, was unlike anything she'd experienced in her life. Part of her--the old part, the Peacekeeper part--saw the danger, the constant distraction from duty. But the other part, the new, growing, questioning part, was almost...envious.

The tech was sitting in the pilot's seat because Crichton, with his unique perspective, had suggested that all three of them work together, learning how to fly the ship and make basic repairs. Aeryn refused at first, by reflex; she was the pilot, and repairs were tech work. But John wouldn't let it go, pointing out the need for backup with such a small crew. After three solar days of his incessant prodding, she'd finally given in and agreed to his unorthodox plan.

Gilina and John were now learning basic piloting from Aeryn, who was in turn learning how to fix things from Gilina. Though she hadn't expected to, Aeryn found she enjoyed both the teaching and the learning. John was a quick study at the helm--to be expected since he had been a pilot on his own world. He'd already managed to pick up the rudiments of Peacekeeper flight control on his own. Gilina had been reluctant at first, hampered by the same ingrained notions of propriety that had inspired Aeryn's initial refusal, but once she accepted the task, her quick mind absorbed the concepts readily.

As the laughter behind her died down to breathless gasps, Aeryn realized this was the chance she'd been waiting for--all three of them together, and none of them with anything that absolutely had to be done right now. It was a discussion too long delayed, too long avoided. She turned to face them, gathering their attention with nothing more than her steady, unwavering gaze. Crichton noticed first and nudged Gilina.

"Something on your mind, Aeryn?" he asked.

"Yes."

John tilted his head slightly, expression fading to neutral. "Hmm, sounds serious." He and Gilina disentangled themselves and got up from the floor, where their brief wrestling match had landed them. They took seats facing Aeryn. "All right, G.I. Jane," John said, once they were settled. "What's the beef?"

With iron control, Aeryn restrained herself from reacting to the incomprehensible query. She'd learned, over the past weekens, that asking for an explanation invariably got answers that made no more sense than the original gibberish. Best to ignore it altogether.

"Before we encountered the Ancients, I believe the two of you had determined to seek a place away from the Peacekeepers. The decision, I believe, was for my benefit. True?"

John and Gilina exchanged glances, then nodded together. "Not entirely for your benefit," John clarified, "but yeah, you were the main reason."

"The situation has since changed. I believe we need to re-evaluate that decision."

"'Re-evaluate'? You saying you want to go back? Even knowing what they would have done to you?"

Aeryn nodded. She'd known this would be hard for him to understand. "I'm not blind to the Peacekeepers' faults, John, not anymore. But for all we do wrong, there are still many things we do right. We were once far better at holding to the ideals we purport to uphold. Even now, corrupt as you believe we are, thousands of worlds would dissolve into anarchy or fall prey to the Scarrans without our protection. I took an oath to the Peacekeepers. In spite of everything, that oath still means something to me. I can fight to support the Peacekeeper ideals--our true ideals--while attempting to correct the problems."

Crichton was staring intently at her. He muttered something under his breath, too softly for her to hear. Aeryn would have let it go, but Gilina turned to him and asked what he'd said.

"It's a quote, from back on Earth about a hundred years ago: 'My country, right or wrong. When right, to be kept right. When wrong, to be put right.' Something she reminded me of, just now."

Aeryn sat back, speechless. It was a concept totally foreign to the Peacekeeper definition of loyalty, which stressed obedience to superiors over everything. But put so concisely, the words carried her memories back to a time, and a man, over two cycles ago. A man of science, much like Crichton, who had perhaps had ideas much like those she was now developing, about addressing the evils of the Peacekeepers from within. Ironic, to be sure, that it had been she who turned Velorek in for his 'treason'.

John's voice broke into her recollections. "How about you, Gilina? Do you want to go back?"

Gilina shook her head. "I don't want to lose you."

A hand reached across to clasp hers. "It wouldn't be like that. If you really wanted to go back, I'd go with you."

"That's not what I meant, John. I know you would. But if we did go back, we couldn't be together; it would be too dangerous. If we were ever discovered, we'd both be executed."

"She's right, John," Aeryn said. "Peacekeepers do not tolerate such unions. They are considered threats to the purity of our bloodlines. Even if you were both Sebacean, the strong emotional bond you've developed would be frowned upon as disruptive."

"Is that how _you _feel about it, Aeryn?" John asked pointedly.

She looked down at her hands, knowing what he was asking without his saying it. "I was trained from birth to believe those things, and it is difficult to overcome that. But whatever my opinion, you have nothing to fear from me. You saved my life, and convinced me to live when I thought I didn't want to. Whether you leave or return, I will not speak against you. If you choose to make your own way, I will report that you were killed on the _Zelbinion_. That should ensure that you are not pursued for desertion."

Gilina stared at her in astonishment. John appeared less shocked, but no less grateful.

"So," he said, breaking the silence, "how are we going to manage it?"

Having anticipated this question, Aeryn turned to the computer and punched up a display she'd prepared. "There's a planet, here, about two weekens away. The data we have is sketchy, but it seems to be a Peacekeeper agricultural supply depot. It's unusual to find one this far out, but perhaps this planet had something special to offer. Peacekeeper ships come twice a cycle to acquire supplies. If we land the Marauder there, I will be picked up and returned to the carrier eventually."

She pointed to another point on the display. "Just a few solar days beyond that planet is a small commerce station in an asteroid field. No indication of Peacekeeper presence is listed, but there is a notation about the availability of good maps there.

"If we stop on the planet, we can acquire supplies, and perhaps a good-sized transport ship. But even if there is no ship available, the station would be within the range of your module. Right, Crichton?"

John got up and peered at the map, calculating times and distances. "With two passengers...barely. Minimal margin for error. We enhanced the life-support systems, but the _Farscape_ was never designed for long-range travel."

"Peacekeeper vessels like this one are allotted a generous amount of common currency, for use in re-provisioning when the mission lasts longer than anticipated. The money we have left should be enough to provide for your needs until you find a place to settle and work, and its loss will be easily explained by the Sheyangs who boarded the Marauder and killed you." Aeryn smirked at that.

**

* * *

**

It had been a great plan. John had to admit that. Abso-frelling-lutely beautiful. But the power of the Almighty Murphy, it seemed, extended even to the Uncharted Territories. John was starting to think that this whole trip was jinxed.

The ropes binding his hands were rough and painfully tight, and a hood over his face made it difficult to breathe. He knew the others were still alive and nearby--he could hear their ragged breathing, punctuated by the occasional grunt of effort as Aeryn tried to loosen her bindings.

The door snicked open, and John heard several sets of feet entering the room. A touch of cold metal at his wrist freed his hands. He ripped the hood off and sucked in a deep breath, gathering himself to fight back... and then froze and sat back as he identified the wrong end of a pulse rifle pointed at him from a distance of about two feet.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Aeryn and Gilina reacting much as he had as their own bindings were cut, and stopping for the same reason.

A woman stepped forward from among the many now staring at the captives. Though young and slight of frame, she carried herself with the authority of leadership. "Welcome to Sykar," she sneered, her voice heavy with irony.

**

* * *

**

Aeryn had never felt so stupid. Last time she'd been captured, at least she'd had the excuse of being knocked unconscious by the escaping Leviathan's starburst. This time, though, she'd walked blindly and confidently right into the trap. The data spools on the Marauder, which listed this planet as a Peacekeeper outpost, had lulled her into complacency. The others had followed her lead and suffered the same fate, compounding her error.

"Why have you imprisoned us?" Aeryn asked sharply. "We did nothing to you. All we asked was to purchase supplies."

"You are Peacekeepers. You enslave my people, destroy my planet, and you claim you have done nothing?"

"Hey, lady," John piped in, "whatever beef you've got with the Peacekeepers has got nothin' to do with us. What do you want?"

The woman smiled coldly. "That is a discussion for later. For now, we've brought you food and water. Enjoy my generosity, Peacekeepers. It may not happen again soon."

A bowl of something that looked like bits of dried vegetables was placed on the floor nearby, along with a large bucket of water. The woman saw them looking at the food doubtfully and growled, "Don't complain about the food; we have nothing else to offer you. Your people saw to that." Then she stalked out, followed by the guards, who kept their rifles trained on the prisoners until the door shut and locked.

They were all hungry, but none seemed eager to be the first to eat. After a hundred microts or more of silence, Aeryn shook her head and reached for the bowl. "We should keep our strength up, to be ready when we see an opportunity to escape." She grabbed a handful of the rations and handed the bowl to the tech, who followed her lead and passed it across to Crichton.

Popping a piece into her mouth, Aeryn started eating. The food was bland, but after monens of eating processed food cubes, anything fresh was a welcome change. After a while, it started tasting better. Or maybe she just stopped caring how it tasted.

**

* * *

**

"Walk with me," the old man at the door ordered.

"Sure," John replied agreeably, pushing himself up off the floor. Aeryn and Gilina lay sprawled on the floor, both sleeping. Aeryn had only returned to the room a quarter arn before, after spending time out talking with the Sykarans.

It was a beautiful morning outside, already warm enough to work up a good sweat. Blue sky, fresh air. Obediently, he tagged along as they walked through the decrepit streets of the city.

"Officer Sun told me something interesting about you, Crichton," the man said, not meeting his eyes. "She claims you aren't a Peacekeeper at all, not even the same species."

"Nope," John said proudly. "Human. One of a kind in this neck of the woods."

The man frowned at the strange syntax. "How do you feel about them? The Peacekeepers, I mean."

John thought about it for a while, turning thoughts and feelings over in a mind that seemed about as clear as mud. "I dunno. On the whole, guess I'm not real fond of 'em," he said finally. "Touchy, kinda violent. Some of 'em are okay, though. Aeryn's calmed down a lot since I met her, and Gilina's great. They're not bad people...just sort of warped by their upbringing, I guess."

"Why are you with them?"

"Kinda got dropped in their laps. Their captain decided I had something he wanted, so he kept me around, gave me a place to live so I could work on his pet project."

They were walking out of the city now, into the green fields that surrounded it. In the distance, the hills were brown and gray, like a desert. Hundreds of people were scattered across the landscape, digging large bulbous roots out of the ground. As John and the woman walked down the road, he noticed two people, a man and a woman, waiting for them near what looked eerily like a railroad car.

John was ushered inside, and the other three spent several long minutes in hushed conference. John gazed around, just enjoying the pleasant familiarity of the surroundings.

Gradually, the voices rose to a level where he could distinguish the words, though he paid them little attention. They weren't talking to him.

"This is madness, Father!"

"It may be, Tanga, but what other choice do we have? You believe we can fight them, but that is hopeless; they are too many, too powerful. I had hoped we were too far away, that we weren't worth the trouble to strike down, but you heard the Peacekeeper when we questioned her. We can no longer cling to that comforting illusion. This alien may be our only chance."

"Why would he help us, Hybin? He's like the Others, the Peacekeepers. He's one of them!" This was the other man, the younger one.

"He's _not_ one of them. He's all but a prisoner among them, and he spoke to me of his dissatisfaction with their ways. He may understand if we show him what has been done here."

"You truly intend to go through with this? It's the only one we have left."

"Yes. Bring it."

John felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder. He'd been admiring the harvested roots that lined the walls, breathing in the rich scents of soil and plant life. The woman--Tanga--stood behind him. "Come with me," she said. "We have something for you."

"A present?" John queried hopefully. Fond recollections of Christmas and birthdays past flashed past his inner eye.

"Not exactly," was his only warning. Suddenly, two pairs of strong hands forced him backwards to the ground, while a third person tore open his tech-issue jump suit to the waist. John caught a brief glimpse of something white and wriggling just before intense pain stabbed through his stomach. The hands released him, and he curled into a tight ball, clutching his abdomen.

"The pain will pass quickly," said a distant voice, through the roar of agony and his own screaming. "You have already consumed enough tannot to satiate the worm."

A wave of nausea rolled in, leaving him gagging. The world faded out for a moment, but when he opened his eyes again, his mind was clear, his memories back in focus, and his anger rising quickly.

"What the hell did you people do to me?" he demanded, pushing himself back against a wall to face his assailants. The nausea began fading, and the cramps had eased to a mild discomfort. The artificial sensations of comfort and contentment were gone.

"The worm will protect you from the effects of the tannot," the old man said.

John blinked. "Tannot? What the hell's tannot?" Not that he cared, he just wanted this damn worm out of his gut.

"The food you were provided, tannot root," the woman explained. "It is what they harvest outside even now." She spent several minutes recounting the history behind the psychotropic plant, how her people had been forced to grow it and how when they started to eat it, it acted on the mind like a drug.

John's mind boggled at the strange situation he found himself in. "Okay, let me get this straight. You captured us, doped us to the gills on this happy plant. You had perfect hostages, who'd never try to escape. Why cure me?"

"We need your help," Hybin said quietly.

"My help?" John laughed incredulously. "I think you've been smoking too much tannot, old man. You've given me no reason to want to help you, and I seriously doubt there's anything I could do, even if I wanted to."

Hybin ignored the outburst. "We need an intermediary, to plead our case with the Peacekeepers when they come. They will never listen to any of our people, for they view us as inferior, as slaves, nothing but bodies to do their labor for them."

"I'm not a Peacekeeper. I thought you knew that already."

"Yes, we know," Hybin said, nodding. "That is why I chose you over your companions. Their minds are closed; they will not listen to what we say, nor see what we show them. You, however, are alien to them, even as we are, and yet they suffer you to live among them, work with them. Perhaps it is because you look so much like them, and they forget to hate."

John shrugged. "Not so's you'd notice," he muttered.

"You do not approve of the Peacekeepers' ways." Tanga phrased this as a statement rather than a question, but still waited for some response.

"Not all of them, no," John admitted.

"They are killing my planet, destroying my people," she said, with great intensity. "At first, all we saw were small ships coming to collect our harvest, a few dozen soldiers at most. We believed we could fight them if only we had weapons. But then strangers arrived on our world and told us stories of the Peacekeepers, their cruelty and their massive forces. They brought us weapons, showed us how to refine the root into chakan oil. But Father is correct: if we try to fight them, our chances of victory will be small.

"If it comes to that, we _will_ fight, because we have no other choice. We either fight and die, or surrender and die anyway. We would prefer that they simply went away and left us alone. My father is hoping you can speak to them on our behalf, make them see what they've done to us, convince them we are not worth the trouble to keep or destroy."

Her father Hybin added, "This is why we cured you. We need you to see with clear eyes. When they come, you will be able to speak to them with your mind unimpaired."

John thought for a moment. The Peacekeepers he knew who might listen to him he could count on the fingers of one hand, and they were all a long way from here; these people were really grasping at straws. It occurred to him, however, that he should play along for the moment, if only to find some opportunity for escape.

**

* * *

**

Unable to sleep through another hot night, John finally gave up and got out of bed, leaving Gilina slumbering contentedly beneath the thin covers. He wandered out into the common room of the suite the Sykarans had provided. His bare feet made no noise to disturb the others as he began to pace slowly back and forth.

He needed to think. Twenty-seven days. _Almost four frelling weeks, and nothing to show for it_, John mused in frustration. Aeryn and Gilina were still completely in the thrall of the tannot root, happy and brainless. Tanga claimed she had no more symbiotic worms to offer them, but they were also hostages to John's good behavior. If he tried to flee, he knew, they would be sent out to work in the fields under the hot sun. There, they would quickly succumb to heat delirium and the Living Death. And despite his urgings, they refused to consider any thought of escape themselves, declaring their perfect contentment with their new lives here.

The women spent their days performing tasks assigned to them, tasks that both took advantage of their unique skills and kept them indoors. For Aeryn, this meant training hordes of pliant Sykaran workers in the tactics of war and the use of weapons. Gilina's tech skills had been co-opted into the production of chakan oil and pulse weapons. John felt constant twinges of sympathetic pain for them, as they were forced to aid and abet an enemy and unknowingly violate oaths that he knew they both took very seriously.

John's days were spent with Hybin, Tanga, or their fellow rebels. He'd started out simply playing along, humoring them while he waited for an opportunity. But the more he saw of what had been done to this planet--the vast expanses of wasted, dead land where nothing would grow any longer, the cities falling into ruin through lack of upkeep, the empty concert halls where the Sykarans' great musicians no longer played--the more he felt sympathy for their plight. Seeing what the tannot was doing to his friends, not to mention to the entire Sykaran population, only further incensed him.

The Peacekeepers could arrive any day; they were, in fact, overdue for their scheduled pickup. The plan he and the others had made before they arrived, leaving Aeryn free to return as the sole survivor of a disastrous mission while he and Gilina flew off into the Uncharted Territories, was clearly no longer an option. While he might be able to knock Gilina out and drag her to the Marauder unseen, he could not in good conscience leave Aeryn to face the consequences of this situation alone. In her current state, she'd likely confess her actions freely to the Peacekeepers and walk smiling to her execution for treason before the tannot wore off.

John had thought about attempting to disable both women, but had quickly abandoned the notion as insane. The tannot might dampen her will and give her a constant feeling of contentment and euphoria, but it hadn't done anything to dull Aeryn's highly trained reflexes. Painful as it was to John's male ego to admit it, he was simply no match for her in a hand-to-hand confrontation.

Which left what? The Peacekeepers were late; would they come at all? If they got wind of this planet's little rebellion, would they simply write it off as a loss, since there was so little to gain by reasserting their control? At best, this planet had about five more cycles of tannot production before the remaining soil was depleted and the people simply died of starvation.

If that was the case, then he and the others could be stuck here for a very--

The sounds of a struggle outside stopped John in his tracks. There was a strangled, muffled shout, and then the sound of a body hitting the ground outside the front door. All of the amorphous possibilities in John's mind coalesced into a single thought--rescue. A microt later, the front door to their lodgings was kicked open and several silent black shadows glided in.

_Hot damn,_ John thought, _the cavalry's arrived! _

With a single glance at John's tech jumpsuit, one of the commandos lowered his weapon and spoke to him. "How many more?"

Playing along with his assumed role as a Peacekeeper tech--no sense wasting time clarifying his ambiguous status--John replied briskly. "Two others, one in each room. They've been drugged, so they won't come willingly."

"Understood." Several fast hand signs sent two of the black forms towards the doors John had pointed out. There were two nearly identical shouts of surprise and pain, and then silence reigned once again.

Within minutes, John was racing through the dark streets surrounded by the commando squad. Aeryn and Gilina's unconscious bodies were slung limply over the shoulders of two soldiers who ran alongside him. The Sykaran city slept on around them in drug-induced bliss.

As they left the city streets and moved out into the barren fields, he saw a second Marauder crouched next to theirs, like a couple of huge alien bugs. They were nearly twins, except for some heftier-looking gun ports on the new arrival.

He was herded roughly aboard, and the Marauder powered up and launched itself into the sky before he'd taken ten steps into the corridors.

**

* * *

**

The biggest shock, in a day already full of surprises, was when he walked through the doors of the commander's office on the Peacekeeper ship.

"Tauvo!" he cried, laughing in surprised relief. He'd expected to see a complete stranger, but he supposed it made sense. Captain Crais' convoy had been the closest patrol to this part of space, so of course he'd have been called upon to respond to the situation on Sykar. And Tauvo was his most trusted lieutenant, frequently sent on detached duty assignments, such as chasing down escaped prisoners and apparently dealing with small planetary insurrections.

The younger Crais, for his part, looked up at the human with surprise, annoyance, and carefully concealed pleasure. He dismissed the commando with a gesture.

"Crichton." He greeted John with a smile. "It's good to see you still alive. The captain was...concerned, when we had no news of you for so long."

"Yeah, well, we had a few problems. Nice ship you've got here, Lieutenant. It's not a Vigilante, is it? Seems bigger than I remember."

Tauvo shook his head, smiling proudly. "It's an Intruder-class frigate. Four times bigger than a Vigilante, though still less than one-fifth the length of the carrier. They usually fly as escorts in the convoy. We needed something larger than a Vigilante to deal with this situation, but sending a full carrier would have been overkill. Not to mention that it would have drawn unwanted attention to our operations here."

"So, a frigate, eh?" John whistled, impressed. "Moving up in the world, my man. When are they going to give you a carrier of your own?"

"It will be many cycles, Crichton, if ever. The standard route for such promotions would have me serving as second-in-command on a carrier for at least three cycles. As it stands, I am still only the fourth-ranked officer aboard my brother's ship; Lieutenants Teeg and Braca are senior to me."

"Ah." John smiled at Tauvo's poorly-concealed anticipation of his future career path.

"I presume the other two we retrieved were also members of your expedition?" Back to business.

"Yeah." John nodded, feeling his fatigue now that the adrenaline had worn off. He sank into a chair. It was still the middle of the night on his internal clock. "Aeryn Sun and Gilina Renaez. The others were killed on the _Zelbinion_, when a bunch of fire-breathing froggies attacked the transport."

Tauvo gave a quizzical look at the incomprehensible description.

"Sheyangs," John clarified. "They damaged the Marauder pretty bad, so we've just been limping back as best we could ever since. At least until we got caught up in this little revolution."

"The situation on Sykar will be dealt with soon," Tauvo assured him. "We only delayed this long because we detected your ship on the surface and had to mount a retrieval mission first. High Command learned of the uprising when a patrol captured their deposed leader trying to sell a load of stolen tannot root on the black market. How did you end up in their hands?"

John nearly smiled at Tauvo's smooth transition from friendly curiosity to professional interrogation. The man wanted more information before taking action. The trick would be giving him what he needed without betraying either Gilina or Aeryn's...unauthorized activities.

"We stopped here for supplies. The Marauder's data indicated that this was a Peacekeeper outpost, so we hoped to make contact with someone and get word to the convoy. We weren't expecting trouble. The Sykarans caught us by surprise, ambushed us. Officer Sun fought hard, but we were badly outnumbered." It was the least he could do to help bolster Aeryn's reputation.

Crais nodded without commenting, and moved on to the next issue. "I understand from the retrieval squad's initial report that Sun and Renaez were both suffering from tannot narcosis. I take it humans are immune to the root's effects?"

John gave a short, humorless laugh. "Not so's you'd notice. I was high as a kite, just like them, for the first few days. But then the Sykarans stuck a worm in my gut, and I didn't even get a shot of tequila to wash it down with." The thought still disgusted him, but he'd had several weeks to get used to it. He supposed it wasn't any grosser than the dentics.

"A worm? Where did they get their hands on one of those? It's not native to this planet, and the founders of this operation only provided one, to the Sykaran leader we captured."

"I dunno," John admitted. "Tanga said they were rare, but they've provided a few dozen to key people over the months. Maybe the one your guys left behind had kids."

Tauvo shook his head. "It's not important. The real question is, why give one to you?"

Now came the moment of truth. For half a microt, John was tempted to keep quiet and let Tauvo get on with suppressing the rebellion in fine Peacekeeper style. Payback, he mused, for their treatment of Gilina and Aeryn.

But the petty impulse passed quickly as he recalled the potential tragedies brewing. Taking a deep breath, John kept the promise he'd made to Hybin and Tanga, in spite of having made it under duress. It wasn't for them, however, but for all the hundreds of innocent Sykaran workers who still toiled in a blissful haze on their dying planet.

"They gave me the worm because they needed a voice to speak for them, someone the Peacekeepers might actually listen to, since they knew you'd never bother to listen to them."

Tauvo scowled at him, all pretense of camaraderie banished. "And why should we?" he growled. "They're primitive, weak, inferior in every way. Fit only for physical labor, and with no better purpose than what we have provided for them. What would you have us do, treat them as equals?"

John sat quietly, unfazed by the outburst; he'd expected that type of response. He shook his head sadly. "No, I know that would be too much to expect from you."

Tauvo frowned at the implied insult, but John ignored the look and went on.

"They're _people_, Tauvo. They had a lovely planet and a working society once, and now it's all fallen apart thanks to you. I'm sure you consider me just as primitive as the Sykarans, but remember, with less than a cycle of training, I'm flying your ships, repairing your machines, and getting closer to understanding wormholes than _any_ of your so-called scientists. Just because they aren't as technologically advanced as you are doesn't mean they're stupid or weak. You want to think of non-Sebaceans as inferior? Fine. It's no skin off my nose, and I'm not going to tell you what to think. But inferior or not, primitive or not, _nobody_ deserves what the Peacekeepers have done to this planet."

Crais shook his head petulantly and got to his feet. "I don't understand your problem," he insisted, pacing restlessly across the office floor. "Those people are happy in their work. What more can they want?"

John jumped to his feet. "Happy? You call that happy? They're blissed-out on a _narcotic_! Aeryn and Gilina were 'happy' while they were there, too, but you were certainly quick enough to knock them out and drag them up here. It's good enough for an alien, but not for you, is that it?"

Tauvo didn't reply.

John took a deep breath, sensing that this conversation was getting away from the point he was trying to make. "Tauvo, happiness or the lack thereof is not the issue. They're ready to fight and die, and it's not because they're not happy. They're fighting because they have no other choice. They're dying already."

Tauvo snorted, amused and disbelieving. "Such dramatic words. I'm sure they wanted you to believe that, to provoke your pity. I know how these people operate. Blatant propaganda for a sympathetic ear--"

"Damn it, Crais," John interrupted, "that's not the way it was at all!" John bit down hard on his tongue to keep himself from saying some of the things he wanted to. Insult and invective would not help his arguments. Clearly Tauvo was not in any mood to listen to him. Time for another tactic.

"Fine," John said at last, taking a deep, calming breath. "You don't believe me. When I first heard their story, I thought they were spinning me a line of bull, too. But then I walked outside and saw it for myself. There's a saying among my people: 'Seeing is believing'. Feel like testing that theory out, Tauvo?"

"What?"

"Come with me, down to the planet. Take a look at what you're fighting against before you order it all blown to kingdom come."

Tauvo gave him that look, the one Gilina had perfected all those months ago: feigning humor at the human's incomprehensible jargon. It was much easier to take from her than it was from Tauvo. Before the Peacekeeper could dismiss the notion out of hand, though, John played his trump card.

"Or are you too much of a coward to look your enemies in the eye before you kill them?"

**

* * *

**

The Marauder settled onto the dusty ground with a bone-jarring thump; Tauvo was apparently still in a bad mood, and taking it out on the helm controls.

After John had flung down that challenge, he'd taken one look at Tauvo's face and realized he might have made a grave error. The man had looked ready to kill. And with Peacekeepers, the likelihood of him indulging that urge was somewhat higher than it would have been back home.

_Well, we're here now,_ John mused. _Guess that means he decided not to kill me after all. _They'd waited twelve arns, until the heat of the day had passed--and hopefully the heat of Tauvo's temper, as well. Long enough for John to go to medical and have his unwelcome guest removed, at least. It had hurt like hell, but it was a relief to finally have the critter gone.

Tauvo appeared out of the corridor and walked towards the Marauder's drop hatch with a stiff-legged, angry stride. Before he reached the opening, however, John stopped him.

"What now, human?" Crais asked impatiently. "Having second thoughts about this waste of time?"

"No, Lieutenant," John said, deciding not to get too personal in his address for the moment. "I think I should go first. They're less likely to shoot me on sight, and I need to explain to them what we're doing."

"All right, Crichton," Tauvo agreed bitterly. "That will have to be your task, since I personally have _no _idea why we're here."

John smiled wryly and dropped out of the ship to the ground without another word.

Two dozen Sykarans with homemade pulse rifles surrounded the ship, positioned behind whatever cover they could find. John looked around carefully and spotted the people he needed to talk to. Raising his hands slowly to show he was unarmed, he walked towards Tanga and Hybin.

"Why have you returned here, Crichton?" the woman spat, enraged. "Have you betrayed us, brought soldiers to kill us? We will fight to the last--"

"Tanga, shut up," John said amiably, cutting her off mid-rant. "You're luckier than you have any right to be, you know that? Out of thousands of Peacekeeper officers High Command might have sent, any one of whom would have locked me up as soon as look at me, you've got the _one_ man in command of the ship in orbit who seems to have a little respect for me. If it were anyone else, you'd already be dead, so get off your high horse and thank your lucky stars I'm such a nice guy. I did what you asked, in spite of what you did to Aeryn and Gilina. I'm trying to help."

Tanga subsided, still looking peeved. Hybin jumped in instead, covering for his daughter's poor manners. "Thank you for your efforts, whatever the outcome, Crichton. But the question remains, why are you here?"

"I've brought the Peacekeeper commander with me--he's alone, Tanga, don't get your skivvies in an uproar. I want to show him what you showed me. I'm hoping he'll believe his own eyes, since he won't listen to me."

Tanga continued to glare at the ship, as if expecting an entire regiment of commando troops to issue forth and slaughter them at any moment.

John raised his voice slightly, pulling her attention back to the discussion. "Will you give me your word that you won't harm either of us while we're here?" he asked.

Tanga's face was set in a stubborn scowl, ready to deny any Peacekeeper the right to set foot on her planet, but then Hybin caught her eye and nodded, his eyes pleading. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself and nodded. "Fine, show the Peacekeeper the atrocities his people have committed here, the death and destruction they have caused with their cursed tannot plants. But don't expect him to feel anything, Crichton. From what we've seen over the cycles, and from what others have told us of their ways, I don't believe they're capable of it."

John shook his head sadly, but didn't contradict her. There was some truth to her words; Peacekeeper training did seem to actively discourage soft emotions such as compassion, pity, and love. In some soldiers, that training might even succeed in eradicating those feelings altogether. But not in all of them. Aeryn Sun had rediscovered them in the past few months, and John hoped that Tauvo, too, would be able to reconnect to those old feelings once again. John had a few ideas on how to accomplish that.

The tour, such as it was, did not start well. John showed Tauvo examples of the Sykarans' problems, but Tauvo staunchly refused to look at anything, and invariably found excuses. Finally, as they were standing in the middle of a dusty, eroded field, barren and wasted, John stopped and turned to him.

"Tauvo," he began, "you told me you once lived on a planet as a child, before coming to the Peacekeepers. Do you remember much about it?"

"Some. Images, mostly."

"Did people have farms there, or is that beneath the dignity of a superior race?" John asked.

He could almost see Crais swell up in indignation. "If you must know, we lived on a farming commune. My parents _were_ farmers."

"Well, good. Remember anything about it? What the farm looked like, what your parents grew, that sort of thing?"

"Crichton, what the frell does any of this have to do--"

"Humor me, Tauvo. Please."

Crais growled under his breath in frustration. "Fine, yes, I do remember some things. It was a beautiful place; I hope to be able to return to visit one day, should my duty allow."

John crouched down and picked up a handful of dirt, letting it sift through his fingers and blow away in the breeze. "Beautiful, you say? There are farms on my planet, too, y'know. Grandpa MacDougall had one, and I remember visiting as a kid. Green plants, rich soil, a respect for the land; any of that sound familiar?"

"Yes...."

"Okay, I want you to imagine something for me. You've gone back to visit, to see your parents' farm. But while you were gone, someone else came to that planet. Aliens. They stripped the world of everything that made it good and healthy, taking it all for themselves. That beautiful place you remember has been turned into this!" John stood abruptly and threw a handful of the dead Sykaran soil at Tauvo's feet. The dry dirt pelted his already dusty boots.

Crais stared at him, too shocked to even reply. John continued shouting with barely a pause for breath. "They came here, and they forced these people to plant tannot. And not just grow it the way they grew anything else, but relentlessly, constantly, on every square inch of ground. No rest, no letting fields lie fallow, no crop rotation, nothing but constant tilling and harvesting. The Peacekeepers have sucked every bit of juice out of this soil, shipped it off-world and used it to make ammunition for their guns. Thirty cycles--only _thirty_--and they have managed to turn a fertile, productive world into a wasteland."

Tauvo opened his mouth to say something, but John cut him off. "This isn't just cruel and destructive--I know those aren't serious Peacekeeper concerns--it's also frelling _wasteful_. You've used up an entire planet in under fifty cycles. How long has this been going on? How many dead worlds have you created within Peacekeeper space that you had to come this far out into the Uncharted Territories to find a new one to plunder?"

The questions were rendered rhetorical, as John again didn't wait for a reply. "It's a waste of effort, of resources, and of time, Tauvo. A planet like this one could have grown tannot for you for centuries--millennia, even--if you'd allowed them to do it properly. But by forcing these people to grow nothing else, to eat the root and suffer the narcotic effects, you didn't create happy, productive slaves. You created mindless automatons, who weren't able to care for their land the way it needed them to. The way your parents cared for theirs."

John finally stopped to take a breath, still glaring a challenge at the young Peacekeeper officer. He'd put every ounce of sincerity and passion he had into his arguments, because he needed Tauvo to understand. And not just for the Sykarans' sake, but for his own selfish reasons as well. He was back with the Peacekeepers now, like it or not. Sure, Gilina and Aeryn were good company, but John found himself missing guy talk, the kind of freewheeling relationship he'd had for so many years with DK. Tauvo was the closest thing John had to a male friend on this side of the universe, and he desperately wanted to like the guy. He just didn't think that would be possible if Tauvo ended up exterminating a planet full of innocent people.

For his part, Tauvo just stared at him with a stunned expression. Behind the eyes, John could see conflict raging between the grown man who stood before him, with all his years of Peacekeeper indoctrination and training, and the small boy buried deep within who remembered what it had been like to run through lush fields and smell green things growing.

Tauvo's fingers twitched at his sides, and John had to restrain the urge to back away a step. The last time he'd spoken to a Peacekeeper the way he'd just railed at Tauvo, the man had nearly ripped his head off. And this time, Aeryn wasn't there to intervene.

Finally, though, Crais tore his eyes away from John and looked out at the desolation. Possibly he was really seeing it for the first time: the dusty, grey soil, the skeletal trunks of long-dead trees, and the severe erosion on every hillside. Several hundred microts passed in silence, but gradually his shocked expression softened into something John might almost have named regret.

"You're correct, of course," Crais said at last in stilted, military tones. "This production method does have some unfortunate flaws. Chakan oil is essential for all Peacekeeper weapons, but tannot can only be grown in climates which are too hot for Sebaceans. We need other races to provide it for us. Perhaps we have chosen unwisely in stressing absolute control of the production lines over efficiency and sustainability. It is simply the Peacekeeper way."

It was a big concession, so John replied in much quieter and more amiable tones. "Tauvo, what were your exact orders for this mission? Do you have any room to maneuver here?"

"I was ordered to investigate reports of an uprising on Sykar, and to put an end to it by whatever methods I felt were required. Standard procedure calls for me to restore the planet to full production if possible. Should that fail, or should the cost appear to outweigh the potential benefits, I would be expected to make an example of them, and see to it that our adversaries could never make similar use of this planet."

"'By any means necessary', eh?" John smiled slightly, hopefully. "Well, I guarantee Tanga's people won't agree to _status quo ante_, so that option is out. And you're never going to agree to their demands."

"Absolutely not."

"But if you're willing to sit down and talk to them--and listen to them--we may be able to work out a compromise that will work to everyone's benefit."

Tauvo frowned doubtfully, but then glanced around him once again. With obvious reluctance, he nodded, saying, "I suppose it's worth a try."

**

* * *

**

Consciousness returned slowly, bringing with it sounds and smells that were at once foreign and strangely familiar. The sense of well-being, contentment, and perfect fulfillment Aeryn had enjoyed for so long had vanished, leaving behind only pain and confusion. Still not fully awake, her mind tried to examine the loss, like a tongue probing for a missing tooth. Was she late? Oversleeping? Shirking her work? Was that the source of these unpleasant feelings?

Blue-grey eyes fluttered open, squinting at the bright light. The first glimpse of gunmetal grey walls and red detailing brought with it a flood of memories: of the planet, the weekens aboard the Marauder, and of the many cycles prior to all that aboard ships like this. Of oaths, and duty, and rules--and her recent violation of every single one. _For the love of Chilnak...treason upon treason._ What had she done?

Glancing around, expecting to see guards posted and ready to drag her to her tribunal, she found only a long row of bunks in the recovery wing of the med bay. An Intruder class ship, by the looks of it. All of the beds were empty save for the one next to hers, where Gilina lay, mercifully still unconscious. Better for her, perhaps, if she remained so; their fates would be the same.

If only she could understand why. Every instruction she'd received had seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, but now, suddenly, nothing she had done made any sense. Where had her mind gone for all that time? Honorable retirement, which she'd faced and accepted after her injury, would have been infinitely preferable to this. At least then she wouldn't have died a traitor.

The door on the far wall cycled open, rousing her from her bleak thoughts. Crichton walked in, his shoulders hunched with exhaustion, his clothing filthy. He wore a pensive expression, moving almost without volition directly to Gilina's side, like a ship drawn in by a docking web, and sank down to sit on the edge of her bed. He simply held Gilina's hand, gazing at her in silence for several microts. Finally, perhaps sensing her gaze, he looked up and met Aeryn's eyes.

"Hey," he said quietly. "How're you feelin'?"

Aeryn thought a moment before replying. "What is that human saying I've heard you use? 'Like crab'?"

John laughed. "It's 'crap', Aeryn. 'Like crap.'" He paused, then gave a rueful smile. "Now, don't take this the wrong way, but that's actually really good to hear. Tannot narcosis just makes you way too pleasant and agreeable; it's nice to have you back to your kick-ass self."

Aeryn's jaw dropped. "Tannot narcosis? What are you saying?"

"What, no one told you? You were drugged, Aeryn, the whole time on the planet. Both you and Gilina. Me too, for a while, until they decided they needed me sober. Nothing you did was your fault. It was the tannot."

"Drugged?"

"'Fraid so. From what little they told me, the toxin in the tannot root short-circuits your higher functions and stimulates the pleasure centers of the brain. You eat the stuff and suddenly you can't think for yourself anymore, and you're happy no matter what you're doing."

"But--"

"But nothing, Aeryn," he said, cutting off her objections. "The Sykarans could have told you to go work in the fields, and you'd have done it. You'd have sat out there in the sun, completely content with everything, right up until you hit the Living Death. If I were you, I'd be grateful they asked so little of you."

Crichton's words eventually sank in, and she sighed. It was good to at least know the reasons. She could face her execution now, and at least not die thinking of _herself_ as a traitor.

Crichton must have seen something of her thoughts in her face, because he reached across and touched her elbow to catch her attention. "I didn't tell Lt. Crais about anything that happened on the planet, or since the _Zelbinion_, for that matter, except for vague generalities. I wouldn't betray you like that. And besides, the way the situation stands now, I don't think Tauvo's going to ask any questions. The less he knows, the less chance he'll find out something that will disturb what we've built down there."

Confusion, strangely enough, won out over relief at her reprieve. "Built? I presumed this ship was here to put down the insurrection."

Crichton smiled enigmatically. "And so they are. But there's no insurrection on Sykar anymore, and as far as anyone will ever know, there never was. The end result, however, may not be what the big boys at High Command were expecting." The grin widened; he seemed inordinately pleased about something.

"What have you done, Crichton?" she demanded, not sure whether to be amused or apprehensive about the possibilities.

"Me?" he replied with exaggerated innocence. "What makes you think _I_ did anything?"

"Crichton...."

He held up his hands quickly. "Fine, okay, maybe I had a few words with Lt. Crais about the situation on the planet."

"A few words. Crichton, you have never, in all the time I have known you, been able to limit yourself to a _few_ words. Just tell me what happened."

The human was unrepentant, but did finally settle down to detail how he'd shown Crais the Sykarans' legitimate grievances, and how Crais had ultimately agreed to sit down with them to discuss options.

"As you might imagine," Crichton continued ruefully, "having Tanga and Tauvo in the same room together did not make for a quiet negotiation. I started to wonder if they'd stop throwing insults at each other long enough to actually sit down and talk. Once they did, though, it took some time to convince Tanga that compromise was a good idea. Sending the Peacekeepers away altogether would not have solved her people's problems, even if the Peacekeepers would agree to go."

"Which they wouldn't."

"Exactly. And then we had to get Tauvo to understand that the Peacekeepers won't get anything more out of this planet unless they put something in. There's just nothing left to give."

"Like what?"

"Like food, for starters, something other than tannot root. They'll need regular shipments until they can get their land restored and grow their own again. And towards that goal, the Peacekeepers need to provide fertilizers to replace all the nutrients the tannot crops depleted over the cycles. That's actually the easiest thing to provide; just vacuum-sterilize the output from ships' waste recyclers and drop it by the transport-load. Costs next to nothing; you guys usually just dump the stuff in space."

"And Lt. Crais agreed to this?" Aeryn asked incredulously.

"It took some convincing, but yes. They both did. It will be a few cycles before production can get going again, but Tanga agreed that they will keep growing tannot for the Peacekeepers--in addition to their own food and cash crops--in exchange for shipments of fertilizer, food, and other necessities. It's the best arrangement for everyone; all the other options end up with the Sykarans dead, now or later, and tannot production ceased permanently. I think you and Tauvo may have a lot more in common than you think, Aeryn. You both love your jobs, but privately you also both see the flaws in Peacekeeper policies."

Aeryn pondered that, intrigued. She didn't know Crais well; the carrier was a big ship, and he'd been in a different Prowler regiment than the one to which she'd previously been assigned.

"It may have also helped," Crichton went on, "that he remembers his childhood on his parents' farm. It certainly gave the Sykarans' situation more resonance for him. And those memories may also make selling this plan to his brother back on the carrier a whole lot easier."

As the situation finally began to sink in, Aeryn stared at this strange alien for long microts, torn between wonder and horror. He endured the piercing gaze for as long as he could, then finally flinched and asked, "What?"

"What is it about you, Crichton? You drop into our side of the universe with nothing but a tiny, primitive ship and the clothes you were wearing, and in less than a cycle you've turned lives upside down. We were content,before, following the rules we were given and not questioning. Everything made sense. But now you're here and the rules no longer apply. I find myself questioning everything I once believed in. Lt. Crais just broke every standard procedure for the sake of one tiny farming planet. Even Gilina...she was ready to give up her whole life here and follow you out into the unknown."

The object of her inquiry was just staring at her, speechless for once.

"You're a roaming point source of irreversible contamination, that's what you are. High Command had better hope you find your way home quickly, John. Otherwise, who knows what damage you might wreak, or what the Peacekeepers will be when you get through with them."

"Are you sorry I dropped into your life, Aeryn?" he asked, quietly.

She cocked her head at him quizzically. "You've changed us, Crichton. By all rights, I should hate you. Instead, I feel grateful, and I think Gilina would agree with me on this. I can not return to what I was--blindly obedient--now that I've learned to see."

TBC ...


	7. Reversible Contamination

**Episode**** 6 - ****Reversible Contamination**

_"I've always thought of myself in terms of survival -- life and death, keeping the body alive." -- Aeryn Sun_

"Hey, Lieutenant, what's cookin'?"

Tauvo Crais looked up from the report on his desk with a baleful glare. "Cooking? Do I look like a food preparer?"

John couldn't resist teasing him a little. "I dunno, you might pass for a skinny Emeril...." He trailed off as Tauvo's pointed look got sharp enough to draw blood. "Sorry," he said, though he wasn't. "I was just wondering how plans were progressing. Have you spoken to Captain Crais?"

Tauvo relaxed and almost smiled. "Yes, I commed him several arns ago and explained our plan for addressing the Sykaran situation. He thinks I'm mad, of course."

John laughed at that. "You're his little brother; I'm sure he's thought so for years...cycles."

"Oh, very likely. But rarely with so much justification; the plan is insane. Nevertheless, he'll support it."

"Because he's your brother," John guessed.

Tauvo grimaced uncomfortably. "Probably. I attempted to explain the situation. I even used some of the arguments you used on me, though of course I couldn't throw dirt on him."

John snickered at the memory. He had to admit, that _had_ been pretty rude. Which was why, after the negotiations, when Tauvo had thrown a sudden roundhouse punch that laid him out on the ground, John had acknowledged that he'd deserved it.

"The captain certainly wasn't happy with the five cycle interruption in tannot shipments that we agreed to, but he admits that if we'd gone ahead and destroyed the operation here, it would have taken at least that long to locate and develop a new source."

"So, when do we head back to the convoy?" John asked, almost dreading the answer.

Tauvo sat back and steepled his fingers thoughtfully. John had a sudden flash of an alternate-universe Mr. Spock; Crais had the look, right down to the beard and the faint air of diabolical calculation. "We're finished here; the Sykarans have been supplied with food and fertilizer, enough to last approximately half a cycle. Those supplies we could not provide from the ship's stores were acquired at a commerce station nearby; the last transport returned and unloaded its cargo half an arn ago. Before we return to the carrier, however, there is a small diversion we need to make."

"Where to?"

"The transports we sent to the station reported something unusual there." With the touch of a button, Tauvo brought the holo-projector on his desktop to life. A smooth, golden shape coalesced in the air, causing John to inhale sharply.

"A Leviathan," he breathed. He'd not seen many, but this one looked strangely familiar. "Isn't that the one...?"

"Yes," Crais confirmed. "The energy signature matches the Leviathan which escaped from our custody the day you arrived."

"Moya," John recalled. The name stuck in his memory, in spite of his brief acquaintance. "What's she doing there?"

Tauvo shook his head. "We don't know. As far as the transport crews could determine, the ship is abandoned, derelict. Still alive, but perhaps injured. It's just drifting in space near the station."

"So we're going?"

"Yes. These prisoners escaped from me once. If there is any chance of recapturing them, or at the very least retrieving the ship, it's my duty to pursue it."

* * *

The first evening after Gilina was released from the infirmary, John met her in the ship's small Officer's Lounge for drinks. That seemed innocuous enough not to provoke suspicions.

They drank in uncomfortable silence for long moments before either one found the strength to speak. "Are you okay with this?" John finally asked. "Being back, I mean." They were far enough from the noisy crowds in the room to not be overheard.

She sighed. "I don't know. It was hard, deciding to leave. But once I'd made the choice, I started looking forward to it. I'd never given much thought to my future before. And now I have to give that all up again."

"Not 'give up,' Gilina. Never that. All we have to do is postpone for a while." He started to reach for her hand, then pulled back. "This, though--not being able to touch you--may just kill me," he grouched, only half in jest.

"Don't joke about that, John," Gilina pleaded. "If we aren't careful, that's exactly what could happen."

John took a deep breath and nodded. _C'mon, John,_ he thought sternly, _you're a well-bred Southern gentleman. Mind over libido, that's the ticket...._ "Damn, this is gonna be hard," he muttered, gazing forlornly at Gilina's now-untouchable face. He reached for his glass instead, to give his hand something useful to do.

Gilina got a very mischievous glint in her eye, though her expression remained studiously neutral. "I'm sure it already is," she said, so low that he could barely hear.

John choked on his drink, sputtering and coughing, trying not to laugh aloud. "Damn. And to think," he murmured, once he got his breath back, "when I first met you, I thought you were shy."

"When did you realize how wrong you were?" she asked.

"Oh, I think in the frag cannon bay on the _Zelbinion_. Either that, or maybe the night you--"

"John." Hushed whisper of warning, as a group of Prowler pilots walked past their table.

Growling in frustration once they were out of earshot, John scrubbed his hands across his face and up through his hair. "Frell. I'm sorry, 'Lina."

"For what?"

"Getting us dragged back here. If only I'd found a way to get us off that planet before the Peacekeepers arrived--"

"If you had, everyone down there would be dead now, John."

"Maybe," he admitted quietly. Sadly.

"Would you be happier if that had happened?" she asked.

"I guess not. It's just...." He trailed off.

"We'll manage, John. We'll think of something." The look in her eyes told him he'd just been kissed, if only in spirit. That would have to do, for the moment.

* * *

The commando squad moved through the darkened corridors in near-silence, allowing Aeryn to hear just how unusually quiet the Leviathan herself was. The air was stale and very cold, with a faint odor of decay lingering. The low, groaning rumbles of the ship's biomechanoid circulation were slow and regular, proving the ship still lived at least, but no other sounds reached her ears. There was no sign of DRDs anywhere, and they were usually a ubiquitous presence aboard these vessels. All in all, the ship felt much changed from the last time Aeryn had traversed these hallways, in search of the hangar bay and escape.

Normally, she would not have been sent on a field assignment such as this so soon after leaving the med bay, not without time for reconditioning. Lt. Crais, however, had felt her prior contact with this vessel and its inhabitants of sufficient value to waive those considerations.

Aeryn wasn't so sure. She'd been aboard this Leviathan for all of six arns, over three-quarters of a cycle ago, and had spent most of that time locked in a cell. But she didn't object, because part of her had wanted to come.

The door to the Pilot's den stood half-open when they arrived. Once inside, Lt. Crais approached the center console, while Aeryn and the rest of the squad hung back and watched for ambushes.

"Pilot?" Crais called out. There was no response. Even from this distance, Aeryn could see that the creature was either unconscious or sleeping. He was also missing one of his four arms. The amputated limb was only just starting to regenerate, still too tiny and weak to be useful.

Reaching over the control panels, Crais nudged the Pilot with the barrel of his pulse rifle and called out again. This time, the large protruding eyes flickered open.

"Wha'?" he mumbled. "Who's there?"

"Lieutenant Crais, Verstar Regiment," Tauvo stated mechanically.

The huge creature finally managed to focus on the figures before him, and drew back in alarm. "Peacekeepers."

"Yes, Pilot," Crais said patiently. "Tell us what happened here. Where are the prisoners?"

"I should tell you nothing," Pilot insisted, still groggy. "But it does not matter now. They are gone."

"What has happened to this ship? Why is it adrift?"

The Pilot's eyes closed in pain. "The crew came to this station in search of maps to their home worlds. There is a scientist here with vast cartographic information." A shudder rippled through the Pilot's body. "They traded one of my arms for a data crystal with their maps. When it arrived, however, there was too much information on it for Moya to process. She could access one map, but only by deleting the other two."

Crais almost stepped back at the barely-hidden venom in the Pilot's voice. Aeryn could see him stiffen even at a distance. He turned his head and looked again at the tiny regenerated arm dangling from its socket.

The worn voice continued. "They argued amongst themselves about whose map would be salvaged. In the end, Dominar Rygel tricked the others into a cell and deleted the maps to the Luxan and Delvian home worlds from the crystal. But when the remaining data was fed into Moya's data stores, it contained a worm program that erased her entire memory."

Crais paused; Aeryn felt a surge of pity for the Leviathan, who had lost everything she knew and then apparently been abandoned by her tiny crew.

"And the fugitives?" Crais asked, echoing her thoughts.

"I am not sure what happened to them. The shock to Moya's systems was so great that I lost consciousness for some time. When I awoke, I was unable to contact any of the DRDs, and the internal comms were down. All of Moya's systems were affected. Even my own connection with her has been compromised; nutrient flow has decreased to minimal levels, and my attempts to help her with this trauma have been ineffectual."

"So the prisoners are no longer aboard?" Crais persisted.

"I presume not," Pilot reported in a supercilious tone. "Given their usual temperaments, I am sure one or all of them would have come to complain about the failing environmentals by now."

"And how long ago did this happen?"

"I do not know," Pilot admitted. "With Moya's functions so crippled, I have no reliable way of measuring time. It has certainly been many solar days."

Crais turned away from the console abruptly, dismissing the Pilot without another word now that he was finished questioning him.

"Officer Sun, it seems your presence here was not required after all. I will take the team down to the station and search for the fugitives there. Due to your fitness status, you will remain aboard the Leviathan. Conduct a thorough search. If you locate any clues as to the whereabouts of the fugitives, you will contact me immediately."

"Yes, sir." Alone on a cold, deserted ship--not an assignment she relished.

"I will contact the Intruder and have a crew of techs sent over. You will see to it that they assess the condition of this vessel and determine its prospects for rehabilitation."

"Easily done, Lieutenant," she agreed more cheerfully. "I've become accustomed to herding techs around."

"Very good."

Within microts, the squad had disappeared through the door and down the corridor at a fast march. Their heavy boot steps echoed hollowly in the emptiness. Aeryn stood for a moment, listening to the sounds fade, and then turned to the Pilot.

"Is there anything I can do to help you or Moya before I begin my search?" she asked.

Pilot's eyes met hers, protruding forward in surprise. The huge head cocked to one side, considering. "I do not believe I have ever heard a Peacekeeper ask me such a thing."

Aeryn thought she ought to explain. "I was aboard Moya briefly, Pilot, just after she escaped. I was the Prowler pilot you dragged through starburst."

"I recall the incident, though I do not believe we were ever introduced."

"Any one of you--the prisoners, you, or even Moya herself--could have argued for killing me. I truly expected someone to try, out of revenge for their captivity. And yet I was not mistreated in any way. You treated me with honor, and so the least I can do is show some compassion in return."

"I thought Peacekeepers abhorred compassion. A sign of weakness."

"They do. I _did_. But I am learning to appreciate the hidden values of some things."

Pilot nodded. "I see," he said, though his tone indicated he was still puzzled. "Well, I thank you, Officer Sun, but there is little you alone can do. Once the techs arrive, however, their assistance would be appreciated."

Aeryn nodded and walked out of the den. As she began her assigned survey, she took a microt to contact the Intruder and request the addition of Gilina Renaez and John Crichton to the crew coming over. Neither one had much experience with biomechanoid technology, but she knew they could learn quickly. And they both had one advantage over the other techs: neither one would have any objections to taking their instructions from a Pilot.

By the time the techs arrived at the pressure hatchway, Aeryn had finished searching the cell levels, and had located the chambers used by the three fugitives. There were no clues as to their destinations; the departures appeared to have been abrupt and without planning. Most if not all of their possessions were still here, and from what she remembered of them, the Hynerian especially would not have abandoned his jewels except under extreme duress.

After setting the rest of the techs to work on the analysis Crais had requested, Aeryn introduced John and Gilina to Pilot. John seemed fascinated, as this was the most alien being he had so far encountered. He asked what had happened to the Pilot's arm. When Pilot explained the trade the fugitives had made for the maps, John's jaw dropped in shock.

Pilot waved his anger and concern away calmly. Moya was his priority; everything else was incidental. He asked them to go to Command and attempt to re-initialize some of her more basic functions from there, since Pilot's own controls were not working.

As they approached Command through what felt like metras of dark and silent corridors, the faint odor Aeryn had noted earlier grew stronger. Then the door swung open, and one of the mysteries of this abandoned ship was solved.

* * *

"Augh!" John cried in disgust as the foul stench assaulted his nose. But worse than the smell was what they could see as the door opened before them.

The last time he'd been here, herded from his module by a pissed-off yellow robot, he'd watched one of the aliens tear a console apart with his bare hands. From the looks of things, it appeared something similar had happened to the room's last occupant.

The Hynerian's throne sled had been smashed against a wall and now lay on the floor, broken in half. The shattered machine provided the best identification of the victim; the Hynerian himself had been torn to pieces. Green gore and dried blood marred every surface.

John swallowed convulsively against his sudden attack of nausea. "Wh-what happened here?" he asked.

Aeryn was surveying the scene dispassionately, noting details that John was doing his best not to look at too closely. "Luxan hyper-rage," she finally deduced with confidence. "The Hynerian must have provoked it, either when he erased the other two maps or when he crippled their only source of transportation. Perhaps the two incidents combined pushed the Luxan over the edge."

"Hyper-rage? Now that sounds ugly...."

"Even at their best, Luxans are prone to violent fits of temper," Aeryn explained. John recalled hanging by the throat from the tentacled alien's hand, and couldn't argue with that assessment. Aeryn continued, "It actually amazes me that he did not kill the Hynerian sooner; the relationship seemed strained even when we were aboard. When sufficiently provoked, however, a Luxan loses all self-control and enters a state of mindless violence. Only in such a state would he have done _this_ much damage to his victim."

"Shit," John breathed. "I'm sure glad I didn't end up stuck on this boat with _that_ kind of creature. I wouldn't have lasted a week. Living among Peacekeepers is no picnic, but at least they usually just knock me out when they get pissed at me."

"The Luxans are formidable warriors," Aeryn pointed out, as if defending the species' violent tendencies.

"Oh, I'm sure. So were the Berserkers. Not my idea of a pleasant next-door neighbor, though."

* * *

It was late in the shift by the time the techs reported to Aeryn that they were finished with their analyses, but needed to consult with Lt. Larell, the command carrier's Leviathan specialist, for a more complete assessment. She escorted them back to the Intruder, assuring them she would deliver their report, and their request, to Lt. Crais.

John and Gilina still hadn't finished with all of Pilot's requested tasks, so Aeryn left them behind to keep working. And if, in the course of their work, the two of them managed to find time to take advantage of their isolation and freedom from prying eyes, well....

Aeryn had to repress a smile. There would be few such chances once they returned to the carrier.

A query to the ship's computer showed that Crais' Marauder was just now returning, on fast approach to the docking bay. Wanting to get her report out of the way quickly, Aeryn went to meet him there.

She stood at parade rest near the treblin side bulkhead and watched as the returning Marauder swooped into the hangar bay and touched down. Nothing happened for nearly a hundred microts, which was odd. Typically, the crew would have disembarked almost immediately.

Then a team of med techs hurried into the hangar and boarded the Marauder, looking serious.

_Injuries?_ Aeryn hadn't expected Crais to find anything down on the station, and truth to tell, she didn't think he had expected anything either. It was simply a duty he had to fulfill so he could say he'd done his best.

Two commandos finally stumbled from the Marauder, the usual swagger of the Marauder crews totally absent. Both were liberally splattered with dried blood, though neither seemed injured. They staggered a few steps, then one sank to the floor and just sat with a look of shock and horror on his face. The other, probably the pilot officer, knelt down at his side. Her movements were more controlled but her expression no less haunted.

Heavy steps behind her caused Aeryn to turn, just in time to see Lt. Reljik, Crais' second-in-command for this mission, march through the hatchway.

"What the frell is going on?" he shouted to no one in particular. Receiving no response, he strode over to the two commandos and snapped, "On your feet, soldiers! Review stance!"

The female officer gazed vaguely up at Reljik, as if only partially aware of his voice, but then the sharp commands seemed to penetrate her confusion. She staggered to her feet, dragging her companion up with her, and managed to get them both into a rough approximation of the proper stance.

Aeryn hadn't encountered Reljik often in her cycles aboard the carrier, but knew his reputation quite well. As such, she expected him to berate the two further for the sloppy discipline, but he simply barked, "Report, soldier!"

The officer swallowed once, cleared her throat, then spoke in a voice still trembling with exhaustion and stress. "Sir. Our squad landed on the station with no resistance and began a standard pairs search pattern."

She recounted the details of a fruitless search, culminating in a distress call from Lt. Crais. Rushing to his aid, they arrived to find Crais' partner, Officer Hedron, severely wounded, and Crais himself gone. They determined through interrogation of Hedron and other witnesses that Lt. Crais had been captured by a local scientist named NamTar. Hedron claimed the creature had thrown him across the room without ever touching him.

"Sounds like his wits were addled by his injuries," Reljik scoffed.

"Yes sir, that's what we thought as well." The pilot looked more alert now as she continued. "It took us some time to track this NamTar to his laboratory. We broke in and found Lt. Crais unconscious, strapped into some kind of device. When we attempted to retrieve him, the creature NamTar appeared and simply waved its arm. Crewman Tivell flew into a wall. The impact broke her neck."

Reljik gestured for the woman to go on.

"Pulse fire was only marginally effective; the creature took a number of direct hits without falling, and seemed to regenerate almost instantly. All it did was make him angry; he waved his arm again, this time at Crewman Arna." The officer stopped speaking, as if the memory was not one she wished to revisit. Her fellow commando made a gagging sound.

Reljik was relentless, however. "Crewman Arna?" he prompted.

She swallowed, looking nauseated. "He was torn apart, sir. The creature never laid a hand on him, and he shredded into bits in front of our eyes."

Aeryn drew back half a step. They were Peacekeepers, both she and this traumatized officer, trained from birth to face violence and death without flinching. But the sheer brutal power of the creature she described was beyond anything Aeryn had ever come up against.

Reljik was older, and the veteran of a dozen horrific battles. He had the scars to prove it. He didn't lighten up on the officer one whit. "And then?"

"Sub-officer Norest managed to shoot the creature in the head while it was distracted, and that seemed to disable him for a time. Objects still flew around the room, but the power seemed unfocused. We pulled Lt. Crais out of the chair and retreated back to the Marauder."

"And Crais? You summoned a med team, so I assume he was injured."

The officer looked extremely uncomfortable. "Sir, he regained consciousness soon after reaching the Marauder, but he was acting...oddly. And we started to see signs of..." She trailed off.

"Of what?" Reljik asked impatiently.

"Of...contamination, sir."

At those words, Reljik did blanch. The med team appeared a moment later, carrying Lt. Crais, who was once again unconscious. His entire body, save his head, had been draped discretely in a thermal sheet.

Reljik moved to intercept them, heading directly for the still form on the gurney. One of the techs made a gesture as if to impede him, but Reljik simply shoved the man aside and yanked the covering from Lt. Crais' body.

A collective gasp went up all around as people caught sight of what the sheet had hidden. Heads turned and eyes were averted by the more squeamish.

Aeryn felt a shiver of disgust crawl up her own spine, but fought the impulse to look away. One entire side of Crais' torso was...changed. The skin had grown smooth and slick, turning a sickly purplish hue. His arm, too, was changing, the fingers fusing together with the same purplish growth. And just below the rib cage, his body had sprouted...something. Small and jointed, it almost looked like....

Aeryn bit her lip as she recognized what she was seeing. The tiny appendage on Crais' side was a perfect match for the regenerating arm of the Leviathan's Pilot. The limb that had been severed as payment for a scientist on the station, who had then double-crossed his customers with a worthless and treacherous data crystal.

Chances were good that this NamTar the officer spoke of was the same scientist. He'd done something with that Pilot's DNA, and he'd infected Crais with the results.

A sudden movement pulled her eyes away from her commanding officer, just in time to see Lt. Reljik grab a pulse rifle from one of the commandos and advance on Crais.

_Oh frell._ Realizing what he was about to do, Aeryn broke away from the motionless stance that had kept her all but invisible to this point. "Lieutenant, wait!" she called out.

Reljik turned towards her, eyes narrowed and angry. "Are you questioning the actions of a superior officer, soldier?"

Aeryn couldn't help noticing that the rifle had turned with him and was now pointed unerringly at her midsection. "No sir," she said carefully. "I simply wished to remind the lieutenant of the possible consequences of this action."

The barrel of the rifle lowered a fraction. "What 'consequences'? He's been irreversibly contaminated. Immediate retirement is standard procedure."

"While I admire your unfailing grasp of procedure, sir," Aeryn said with a trace of sarcasm, "what you have perhaps not considered is the identity of the officer you were about to exercise it on."

"It's Lt. Crais. What the frell does that have to do with anything?"

"He is _Captain_ Crais' _brother_. That relationship may mean nothing to you, Lt. Reljik, but trust me, it means a great deal to _him_. Do you truly wish to explain to the captain that you executed his brother without even attempting to discover if the contamination was reversible?"

Aeryn watched as the conundrum worked its way through Reljik's brain. He had been a lieutenant for most of his career, and would never rise any higher; one of those adequate, undistinguished officers who could quote you a regulation to support any action he wanted to take, but lacked the capacity for original thinking. The disgust he felt at Lt. Crais' condition was nearly palpable; he desperately wanted to kill him, to wipe away the stain in a manner that was both thorough and violent. In a situation like this, however, where the desired and 'proper' action would get him in trouble, he had trouble seeing alternatives.

"Don't you at least think it would be wise to consult with Captain Crais first?" she suggested, holding out an easy escape.

"Yes. Yes, of course. Take Lt. Crais to the med bay and put him in isolation. I will contact the captain. And there is to be no discussion of this outside this room, is that clear?"

Everyone nodded, murmuring, "Yes sir." Aeryn knew, as they all did--as probably even Reljik did--that orders or no, the story would make its way to every member of the crew before the next shift started.

* * *

John poked his head inside the dank and depressing cell that passed for a medical isolation ward. Tauvo lay on a cot, one leg hanging off at an awkward angle as if he'd been dumped in a hurry.

Glancing back down the hall, John could see the med techs flitting nervously about their work, staying as far from this room as they could. None of them would even look this direction if they could help it. Dropping Crais like a hot potato was probably exactly what they'd done. The looks on the faces, the whispers in the corridors--everyone was treating their commander like a leper.

John ducked into the room, shaking his head. Gently, carefully, he rearranged the unconscious patient into a more comfortable position. Tauvo was shivering violently. John got a blanket, and as he began pulling it over Tauvo's shoulders, he glanced up to see the man's bleary eyes staring back at him.

"Hey, bro!" John greeted jovially. Seeing Tauvo wince at the sound, he continued in a much softer voice. "How're you feelin'?"

"H-how does it look like I'm f-feeling, human?" Tauvo replied petulantly through chattering teeth.

John cocked his head, thinking about how to respond, and opted for brutal honesty. "Frankly, sir, you look like crap."

Tauvo almost smiled. "That sounds...accurate. What the frell happened?"

John explained the events down on the station that Aeryn had relayed to him, including her speculations about the Pilot's missing arm and the alien scientist.

Tauvo listened to John's synopsis quietly, then pulled the blanket down off his body and looked at himself for the first time. His face remained impassive, but John could see the faint lines of stress around his eyes as the struggle to maintain that outer calm grew more difficult.

"Why...am I still alive?" he finally asked with forced calm.

"Because Aeryn put the fear of God into your XO; he's gone off to comm your brother for instructions."

Tauvo closed his eyes, wincing. Whether the pain was physical or emotional, John couldn't tell. "Bialar...will try to protect me, but...he can do nothing. Peacekeepers won't tolerate such contamination.... Can barely stand to look...at myself."

Tauvo curled up then, overcome by a spasm of pain, and John placed a hand on his shoulder. He could have chided Tauvo for his Sebacean chauvinism, but didn't have the heart. Having his body slowly mutate into another species would freak John out, too. "We'll fix it," he assured Crais. "The captain will come up with something--"

_"Crichton,"_ called a voice suddenly through his comms.

"Yeah, Aeryn?" he replied without thinking, then winced. "I mean, yes Officer Sun?" They'd been back among the Peacekeepers for over a week, but he still hadn't managed to break the overly-familiar habit of addressing her by name.

_"Where are you?" _

"Med bay, isolation ward. Visiting Crais. Why?"

_"Good. Get him up and out of there." _

"What? Why? He's not really in any condition to be wandering around right now."

_"I don't like the sound of some of the talk I'm hearing. The tension on this ship is rising as the stories spread and get more insane. It could break into full blown paranoia at any microt." _

"Can't you get security to put a guard on him or something, protect him? He's their commanding officer!"

_"Security isn't responding, and neither is Lt. Reljik. I think he knows, and is planning to let it happen. It would solve his dilemma nicely, and he wouldn't get blamed for it. He probably hasn't even called the captain, hoping his 'problem' will simply disappear." _

John had Tauvo's arm over his shoulder and was wrestling the man to his feet before Aeryn finished speaking. Mob mentality, Peacekeeper style. Nothing more dangerous than a bunch of frightened people crowded into a confined space. Aeryn was right; they needed to get Tauvo away before he got lynched.

He looked down and frowned. The lightweight clothes the med techs provided their patients were orders of magnitude better than the standard Earth-issue hospital gowns John remembered with loathing, but they still did little to conceal the changes overtaking Tauvo's body.

"You want me to march him through the corridors looking like this?" he asked.

There was a pause. _Hadn't thought of that, had you, Ms. Sun? _

_"Lt. Crais?"_ Aeryn called.

"I was wondering...when you were going to get around to...asking for my input...Officer Sun," he gasped out. The tone was stern, but John could see the faint glimmer of amusement through the pain.

_"I apologize for my abruptness, sir, but I felt we were pressed for time. Are you able?" _

"With Crichton's assistance...yes. Your recommendation?" Tauvo was focusing all his attention on the external situation, John saw, probably in a desperate effort to _not_ think about his own condition.

_"I suggest you direct him to the maintenance tunnels, sir. They are less populated, and you'll likely only encounter techs. I judge them a lesser risk. I will meet you at the docking port to the Leviathan." _

"You're planning to hide him on Moya?" John asked.

_"It's probably the last place they'd think to look, and she's an independent vessel, outside their control. Besides--"_

There was a muffled sound of angry shouting, from outside the med bay. John cut off Aeryn's explanation, saying, "We've got trouble, Aeryn, gotta run. Which way, Crais?"

* * *

"No."

"Dammit, Aeryn, we've got to do _something_. He's getting worse, and no one else is lifting a finger to help. His own crew has given up on him, but I won't."

"And what do you think you can do, Crichton? You're a tech--no, not even that--and you've never even fired a weapon!"

"Fine, I'm an inferior being with no redeeming qualities. But I have two hands and a brain, and I can not just sit around and watch a man suffer like this." He clenched his hands and looked down at the sleeping Sebacean. The massive physical changes Tauvo was going through were putting incredible stress on his system, and from what little he'd said during his lucid periods, the mental and psychological changes were becoming equally traumatic as his thought processes blazed out of control.

Two Pilot arms sprouted from Tauvo's chest, each now half the length of his original limbs. His own arms were taking on the same appearance, with his hands now fully converted into three-fingered claws.

"What is he to you that you're so determined to risk getting injured or killed in this insane quest?" Aeryn asked.

John sighed. For all the changes he'd seen in her lately, Aeryn was still very much a product of her upbringing. Instead of answering directly, he threw questions back at her. "What were you to me, Aeryn, when I pulled you out of that fire on the _Zelbinion_? What were you when you were paralyzed and I goaded you into fighting back? What were you when that wormhole appeared and I took you to my home world rather than abandon you?"

Aeryn just shook her head, but he could see her mind working, analyzing.

"You were a shipmate, Aeryn, a comrade. You were someone I had come to respect. Someone I had even started to consider a friend. Well, the same is true of Lt. Crais here. I hope I'd try to help _anyone_ who was suffering like he is, but Tauvo is someone I'd like to call friend someday. I have to help him."

"Fine. Have you given any thought to _how_ we're going to convince a being as powerful as this NamTar to give us a cure for whatever he's done?"

"I'm hoping to avoid him, actually. Tauvo said there was someone else in the lab while he was there, a woman who seemed to be NamTar's assistant. I want to find _her_. With a bit of persuasion, maybe we can convince her to help us. Just let me do the talking."

"And when that doesn't work?" she asked doubtfully.

"O ye of little faith," John scoffed. "Then we go to Plan B."

"Which is?"

"We improvise."

* * *

Aeryn could feel John's eyes tracking her every movement as she piloted the transport pod down to the station. It made her teeth itch. To distract him, she pulled out the extra pulse pistol she'd packed in her bag and tossed it to him.

"What's this?" he asked, surprised.

"It's a gun."

Crichton snorted. "I know that, Aeryn. But why? I'm not a soldier; I didn't think you'd trust me with a weapon."

"I don't. It's a bad idea. Not to mention completely against regulations. But going into a situation like this, you may need it."

"Aeryn, as you so tactfully pointed out, I've never fired one of these before. Can you give me the fifteen-microt tutorial?"

"You point it at someone and pull the trigger, Crichton. How hard is that to comprehend?"

"Give me a break, Officer Sun, this is my first ray-gun. I just don't want to accidentally blow my hand off or something. And it might be a good idea if I knew how to reload it."

"It's not a 'rae-jun', Crichton, it's a standard-issue pulse pistol. I suppose you might accidentally overload the pulse chamber, but that's a rare mistake, even for a first-year cadet. Just don't keep pressure on the trigger for more than three microts without firing. As for reloading, I doubt that will be necessary. The chakan oil cartridge is full, and the weapon gets approximately six hundred shots on a cartridge."

"Wow. And I thought the six shooters in old westerns went a long time without reloading."

Aeryn ignored that nonsensical statement with the ease of long practice. _One of these days,_ she thought, _I'll sit this alien down and make him explain everything he's ever said that made no sense. _

After they touched down, finding NamTar's assistant turned out to be easier than Aeryn expected. They made their way to the refreshment house where Tauvo had been ambushed. Dozens of locals were there, huddled in small groups. One of them matched the description Crais had given.

Aeryn froze in the doorway, still holding the curtain that divided the bar from the corridor outside. Every single being in the room showed signs of...she didn't know what to call it. Mutation? Mutilation? It looked like a Peacekeeper propaganda vid on the evils of genetic contamination, the horrors of mixing species. And yet these were not hybrids, not natural products of recombination, of that she was certain. They looked like...Lt. Crais, only different.

A pall of fear, dulled by weariness but still pervasive, hung over the crowd. NamTar, she thought. Crais is not his first victim. He must have been preying on the residents of this station for a long time.

NamTar's assistant was not the worst looking of the malformed creatures here, but she was close. One hand was grossly enlarged, probably ten times its original size, and her skull was lumpy and asymmetrical.

Crichton approached her, projecting his best friendly, non-threatening attitude. Aeryn stood nearby, watching his back and keeping an eye out for trouble. Both of them were wearing long cloaks to disguise their uniforms, but as two pure-looking Sebaceans (or close enough) in this crowd of twisted modifications, she doubted they were fooling anybody.

"Hey there," she heard Crichton say by way of introduction. "Could we have a few words with you?"

The woman twitched at the contact when the human touched her shoulder. She turned sharply, her reflexes heightened by long-standing paranoia. With one look at Crichton's Sebacean features, then at Aeryn standing not far behind, the malformed woman cringed away. "I can't... Stay away from me... I did nothing to that man," she babbled half-incoherently, backing away towards the far wall.

"Hey," John called, holding out his hand in a quelling gesture. "It's okay. We're not here to harm you, we just want to talk."

"Talk? Peacekeepers don't talk. Just go away, back to your ship, before he finds out you're here. He's angry; I've never seen him so enraged. If he sees you, I don't know what he'll do."

"Thanks for the warning, but we're not leaving just yet. And the best way to prove you weren't a part of what this NamTar did to our friend would be to help us."

"I can't! He'd know, he always knows! Please, you have to leave, before it's too--"

There was a rustle of fabric from the doorway, and a hush fell over the room. Before Aeryn could turn, however, she felt an incredibly strong force pull her backward, and a large, clawed hand close around her throat. Her instincts and training all urged her to fight back, but her body was not responding to her brain's signals. She was paralyzed, and this time, it wasn't just her legs.

* * *

John saw the alien woman's eyes widen in shock and turned to follow her gaze, just in time to see a huge, Satanic-looking figure grasp Aeryn around the throat. Her eyes were panicked, but for some reason she wasn't fighting back.

He took a step towards her captor, reaching awkwardly for the pistol, only to find himself flying through the air at a wave of the creature's free hand. The impact of his fall was softened by the crowd of frightened patrons he crashed into. The resulting tangle of limbs and bodies slowed down his attempts to regain his feet.

"Please do not attempt to harm me again, Peacekeeper," the creature said in an oily, patronizing voice. "The consequences to your comrade would be...unfortunate."

John could see small rivulets of blood on Aeryn's neck where NamTar's claws--he assumed this had to be NamTar--had already broken the skin. He got to his feet slowly, keeping his hand well away from the pistol still strapped to his thigh.

"You have caused me some slight inconvenience," NamTar continued, the steel behind the voice belying the implied triviality of the offense. "The one you stole from me showed promise of success, where all my past experiments met only with failure. Return him to me, and I will release the woman unharmed. Refuse, and I will simply repeat the experiment with my newest...volunteer." He nodded at Aeryn's dark head, still firmly in his grip.

"Kornata," he addressed the cowering figure behind John. "See that he retrieves my prize within an arn, and return to the laboratory with it undamaged. The transformation should be nearing completion by then."

John was stunned. The situation had gone from bad to impossible in fourteen seconds flat. For a few heartbeats, his mind just gibbered and whirled in useless circles. Then he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and everything snapped back into focus. The woman, Kornata, was edging towards the door, preparing to make a break for it.

Time for Plan B.

Like a striking viper, John's hand shot out and grabbed Kornata by the arm. "Hell no, lady, you're not goin' anywhere." Turning, he addressed NamTar, spinning a line of his finest B.S. "Fine. Crais is pretty much a loss anyway, scheduled for immediate execution. I'll make the trade. Better make it two arns, though; he's in Peacekeeper custody, and it could take me a bit of time to bust him out."

NamTar nodded. "Very well, two arns, but no longer. Kornata will direct you to my laboratory." With that, the huge creature turned and ducked through the door, still dragging Aeryn by the throat as she stumbled to keep up.

John turned to Kornata, drawing the pistol Aeryn had given him and trying to grip it like he knew what he was doing. Using the memory of every Clint Eastwood film he'd ever seen, he tried to put some menace into his voice. "I was asking nicely before, but not this time. You've got two choices, lady. You either help me help my friends, or I turn you over to the Peacekeepers up there and tell them you were the one who contaminated their commanding officer. I don't even want to _think_ about what they'll do to you."

The woman seemed to deflate, all resistance melting out of her. "I wish I _could_ help, but I don't know what you think I can do. He's just too powerful. If I'm not back in two arns with the Peacekeeper, he'll just use your friend."

"Fine, time's a-wasting, let's go." Dragging her from the refreshment house without releasing her arm or re-holstering the pistol, he started back for the transport pod. "What the hell is the point of this 'experiment', anyway?" he asked as they walked.

"He wants to isolate the Pilot species' multi-tasking abilities. He's been trying, ever since he got his hands on the DNA, but none of the other subjects transformed successfully. He's desperate, which is why he risked taking that Sebacean."

"But why? What the hell is so important that he'd risk pissing off an entire Peacekeeper warship?"

"Because it's an ability he doesn't possess yet. He's grafted the best traits of a thousand different species onto himself, enhancing his size and intelligence and adding telekinetic and regenerative capabilities. No one on this station has escaped him; we've all been used to isolate the traits he wanted."

"And no one's tried to stop him?" John was aghast, unable to believe that one being could hold such power of fear over a population of hundreds.

"At first he just used our laboratory creatures for his work, and we did not see the danger. By the time we realized, he had grown too powerful. Anyone who challenged him died horribly."

"Damn. He's turned himself into a frickin' Superman, and we don't have any kryptonite."

Kornata turned to him and narrowed her eyes in confusion. "Krebdonide? What is that?"

John shook his head. "Sorry, just a story from my home world. A man with awesome powers, essentially invulnerable, but he had a single weakness. If he was exposed to a material called kryptonite, he lost his powers. It could even kill him. What?"

Kornata's expression had brightened at a sudden thought or inspiration while he was talking. It was the same expression he'd seen on his own face in the mirror, years before, when the first equations for the Farscape effect burst into his mind's eye while he was shaving.

"It might work," she whispered to herself, not really even seeing him anymore.

"What? What might work?" He shook her lightly to reclaim her attention.

"NamTar is a composite, just like his experimental subjects, which means his genetic structure is inherently unstable. If I could find the right formula, I could destabilize the construct and revert him to his original form. It would be your 'kryptonite'."

John nodded, hope stirring for the first time since Aeryn had been grabbed. He rushed across the spaceport tarmac to the transport pod, dragging Kornata along behind. "Can you do it in two arns? The Leviathan had a medical lab set up...."

"By the Delvian priest, yes; she's told me about her pharmacopoeia. I'm not certain I could do it so quickly, and certainly not alone. Is the Pilot still able to assist?"

John pushed Kornata up the steps and into the pod, clambering up behind her. "I'm not sure. Moya was pretty well brain-wiped by NamTar's crystal, and Pilot's just barely holding it together. I helped out a bit yesterday, restoring the comms and rebooting the DRDs, but he still doesn't have access to much of the ship. We'll ask, though; can't hurt. And maybe I can get Gilina to give you a hand. She's a tech, though biology and genetics aren't her specialty."

Sliding into the driver's seat, John stared at the unfamiliar instruments. He'd watched Aeryn fly it down, but could he remember enough? Tentatively, he reached out to grasp the controls.

* * *

Flying back up to Moya had taken twice as long as the trip down. John had grown more and more frustrated with each wrong turn and thruster misfire, begrudging every microt lost to his clumsy flying, and nearly flubbing the landing completely in his impatience. The pod landed hard, gouging a deep scar into the hangar bay's deck plating and coming within inches of impacting the back wall when he tried to come in too fast. _Ouch,_ was all he could think, wincing in sympathy for the sentient ship. _Pilot's not going to be happy with me for that one. Wish I'd thought to fix the docking web before we left. _

He was right about that, at least; Pilot was in a very bad mood when they arrived in the den, scolding John roundly for causing the ship such pain. When he finally calmed down enough to listen to Kornata's requests for help, Pilot was reluctant to help a Peacekeeper for any reason. But when John pointed out that they were actually trying to destroy the creature who had crippled Moya, suddenly Pilot was all eagerness.

The next two arns were a frenzy of desperate activity. Kornata took over the maintenance bay laboratory, with Gilina and Pilot assisting. When they needed data that Moya's data spools could no longer provide, Gilina volunteered to sneak back aboard the Intruder and tap into the computer grid.

John worried that Lt. Reljik might take some action to thwart them; there was no way the crew on the Intruder could remain unaware that the Leviathan was the source of some activity, with the departure and subsequent limping return of the transport pod, nor that their commanding officer, a soldier, and a tech were missing from the duty roster. But according to Gilina, the crew had descended into a haze of nervous confusion, having received no orders or direction from their new commander. Reljik was probably just sulking in his quarters, John figured, trying to figure out what was going on and how he was going to explain all this to Captain Crais without losing his position. Or his head. But whatever the reasons, John was just grateful that the Great God Murphy had chosen to take a powder, just this once.

The hardest task, from John's perspective at least, was explaining to a suffering and frightened Lt. Crais that he would have to suffer and fear for a while longer. If they showed up at NamTar's lab with Tauvo already cured, the creature would know something was up and they'd never get near him.

Crais, however, didn't want to hear any of it. He pleaded, explained how his mind was running in a thousand directions at once, how he felt himself drowning in the sea of overlapping and conflicting thoughts. He even tried ordering John to give him the serum as soon as Kornata had it ready.

John just snorted humorlessly at that. "Bro, I'm sorry, but I'm not one of your tin soldiers, and even if I were, you're in a poor position to give orders. Aeryn risked herself to get you the help you needed, and I am not going to abandon her, any more than I was willing to abandon you. We'll get you the serum as soon as we can, but not until everyone is safe and NamTar is no longer a threat.

"If this works, you're welcome to charge me with insubordination after we get you back in command of your ship."

Tauvo glared blearily at John from beneath the heavy, purplish brow ridges that had formed over his eyes. "And when it doesn't work?" he asked, his enunciation suffering due to the changed arrangement of teeth and tongue. "NamTar believes you to be a Peacekeeper. He will _expect_ treachery."

John shrugged nonchalantly, projecting his best attitude of fatalistic confidence. "If it doesn't work, we'll probably all be dead, and you can say 'I told you so' on the flip side. But don't worry about it, we'll be fine.

"I've got a plan."

* * *

For Aeryn Sun, the two arns of waiting dragged on interminably. Chained to a wall in the dark and fetid alcove where NamTar kept his failed experiments, she couldn't help but look around at the pathetic, distorted creatures and wonder if she was looking at her own fate.

Most of her companions here in the shadows were so grossly deformed that she couldn't even tell what species they had originally belonged to. They whimpered--and occasionally screamed--almost constantly in their pain and misery.

One voice however, from deeper in the alcove, was different. It chanted softly, the words inaudible but the tone serene. It was a calming voice, which seemed to warm the chill and provide comfort.

Aeryn listened, all the while wondering. Would John Crichton accede to NamTar's demand and trade Lt. Crais for her freedom? He'd said so, but those were only words. Once he gave it some thought, would he save the higher-ranked officer and write her off as a loss, as any right-thinking Peacekeeper should?

He wasn't a Peacekeeper, of that she was well aware. The knowledge, however, was not enough to tell her which option he would choose in this situation. If it were Gilina sitting here, she was fairly sure his emotional attachment to the tech would lead him to make the trade. But her own position in the human's strange hierarchy of importance was less clear, as was Lt. Crais'. Which one would he choose to save, at the expense of the other?

She tugged once again to on the manacles that held her, trying to break them, or loosen their moorings. The best thing for everyone would be if she could get free on her own, save Crichton from having to make that decision at all. But the chains held firmly.

The chanting from the corner faded away to silence. Aeryn's eyes had now sufficiently adjusted to the dimness to make out a bipedal figure sitting there, one wrist shackled to the wall. The head was hairless, though it showed some small protrusions spread evenly over the surface. She couldn't see clearly enough to determine the race, nor the extent of NamTar's modification, though this figure at least did not have the multiple arms and greatly enlarged head of the others infected with the Pilot DNA.

The head lifted, and she could sense unseen eyes peering back at her. "Who is there?" asked a feminine voice.

"Officer Aeryn Sun," she replied, by rote, though she chose to skip the recitation of her company and regimental affiliations.

"Peacekeeper," the woman in the corner said, chin lifting in surprise.

"Who are you?" Aeryn asked in return.

"I am Pa'u Zotah Zhaan."

"Ah. The Delvian prisoner. From Moya." The shape looked right, except for the small bumps on her head. In the darkness, she couldn't discern any details.

"You know Moya?"

"I was aboard her less than an arn ago," Aeryn confirmed. "How did you end up here?"

"When NamTar's crystal wiped Moya's memory, we were enraged. D'Argo unleashed his anger on Rygel, but I knew the true source of the evil was here, on this station. I came to seek revenge, but the creature was too powerful. He tried to use me, injected me with Pilot's DNA. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the attempt to meld genetic material from flora and fauna species proved less than successful. He keeps me here, along with all his other surviving failures, to study. I offer them what comfort I can, as is my duty as a priest. But please, child, how are Moya and Pilot?"

Aeryn shook her head. "Not well, from what we were able to determine. Most of the Leviathan's systems were shut down or blown out by the crystal's data wipe. The techs weren't terribly optimistic about the prospects for rehabilitation." She caught herself gazing at the crimson drape over the entrance to the lab. Would Crichton come? Should she even want him to, if it meant the betrayal of her superior?

"I should never have left them," said the Delvian quietly. "My duty was to aid, not avenge them. I realize that now, though at the time my anger overwhelmed me."

"What happened to the Luxan?" Aeryn asked, curious.

"I don't know," Zhaan replied wistfully. "I imagine D'Argo felt some remorse when he woke from his hyper-rage and realized what he'd done. Perhaps he took one of Moya's transport pods and fled; I can only hope he did not run afoul of NamTar like I did."

"We've seen no sign of him," Aeryn assured her. She glanced at the curtain again.

"Are you waiting for someone, child?" the priest asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know," she admitted.

Time passed and conversation died. Small talk wasn't really appealing when you were being held prisoner by a sadistic alien megalomaniac, waiting for rescue that would likely never come. Hezmana, Crichton probably hadn't even made it off the station; he didn't know how to fly a transport pod.

After what seemed an eternity, but was probably closer to the two arns specified, NamTar's gangling figure ducked gracefully through the curtain and into the alcove. Several of the creatures chained along the walls let out panicked squeals, voicing their terror at his presence.

"It seems, my dear," NamTar said cheerfully, "that your companion has chosen to abandon you."

Aeryn felt her stomach drop as hope faded. Crichton had chosen Crais. Or perhaps the choice had been taken from him by someone else, like Reljik. She would probably never know.

"It is a nuisance to have to repeat the procedure, but you should feel honored. You are going to participate in a grand experiment, aid in the progression of--"

A loud voice rang out in the room behind him. "Hey, Dr. Mengele! Sorry I'm late, traffic was a bitch, but I brought you your lab rat."

_Crichton. _

NamTar flew through the curtain almost before Crichton finished speaking. Aeryn strained to hear, wishing she could see what was going on.

"You were nearly too late, Peacekeeper," NamTar said without preamble. "Perhaps I should keep both of my prizes, as the requirements were not adhered to."

"I think not," Crichton drawled, imitating a Peacekeeper accent.

"Kornata, the final stage serum is nearly complete. Your assistance is required."

"Where's Officer Sun?" Crichton's voice broke in.

NamTar must have simply pointed, because a moment later Crichton blew into the alcove in a rush, the curtain flying wildly in his wake. The sight of so many captive wretches gave him pause for a few microts, but then he seemed to shake it off and knelt down beside her. "You okay, Aeryn?" he asked.

"Fine, Crichton. You should not have made the trade. Lieutenant Crais is far more valuable--"

"Shh," he hissed, placing a finger on her lips. "Don't worry so much. I've got a plan."

Oh frell. The human had a plan. They were all dead.

* * *

John saw the bleak expression cross Aeryn's face and protested. "Hey, do not give me that look!"

"What look?"

"The 'poor deficient human' look, the one that says nothing I thought of could possibly work. Kornata's got a serum that'll revert everyone back to their original forms...including NamTar."

"Human?" said a voice tentatively from the dark corner behind him. "I remember that word. The Sebacean who wasn't."

John turned, peering into the gloom but unable to see anything. "Who's that?"

Aeryn said, "You remember Zhaan, the Delvian prisoner from Moya?"

"The blue lady?"

A soft chuckle wafted out of the darkness. "I am surprised that you remember me."

"It's not a day I'm likely to forget," John pointed out. "I remember you as the one person I met aboard Moya who didn't hit me, spit on me, or knock me unconscious. Thank you."

There was a thoughtful silence, and then, "You say you have a cure for what has been done? You can restore everyone to their former selves?"

John chewed on his lower lip nervously. "We hope so. First we have to get rid of NamTar, though."

"If there is any way I can be of assistance--"

"Nah," John replied. "You just sit tight. We'll get it done." He fumbled at Aeryn's shackles for a moment, before a whispered suggestion led him to the release mechanism.

Grabbing her elbow, he ducked back out into the main lab, to find NamTar circling around Crais like a vulture. Tauvo was standing, as best he could, maintaining the most rigid emotional control. Out of the corner of his eye, John could see Kornata bustling about with the beakers and syringes, staying quiet and inconspicuous. John's job was to see to it that she remain unnoticed.

"If you are planning to disturb my work," NamTar said casually, not looking up from his examination, "I must warn you that I do not have time to waste in pointless bickering. I suggest you take what you have won and go."

John raised his hands in innocent protest. "Hey, I'm not gonna give you any trouble; I've got what I came for, and everybody's happy. Even Lt. Reljik's satisfied: he can truthfully say he made a good effort to reverse his CO's contamination, and now he gets to stay in command and doesn't have to deal with _this_.

"I'm just kind of curious. As something of a scientist myself, I've been trying to figure out what the point of all this is. What's the point of making a Pilot hybrid? What does it get you?"

"Why, nothing less than the next step of the journey of intelligent life towards perfection," NamTar gloated. "By isolating the Pilot's multitasking capabilities, I will experience a level of mental processing far beyond any other race."

John tilted his head in feigned curiosity; he already knew most of this from talking to Kornata, but didn't want NamTar to know he'd learned so much. When he'd been thinking of how to keep NamTar distracted, his first impulse had been to attack him on moral grounds, keep him on the defensive for his experimentation on sentient beings. But with the visions of the false Earth still fresh in his mind, recalling how the humans constructed from his own memories had treated the first alien to fall into their clutches, he sadly realized he didn't have much of a moral high ground to stand on.

So, he decided, if you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bull.

"'Perfection'? Scientifically speaking, that's a meaningless term," he pointed out in a challenging tone.

"'Meaningless'?" NamTar exclaimed, looking affronted.

_Okay, Johnnie-boy, _he thought,_ you got what you were after, his full and undivided attention. Now what are you going to do with it?_ "Sure," he said, as if it was obvious. "It's a completely subjective concept, the definition depending entirely on the desires of the individual. For example, when you say you're striving for perfection, what exactly are you referring to?"

"Strength. Intelligence. Power."

"That's it? As I said, totally subjective. What about wisdom? Purpose? Compassion? Loyalty? Love?"

NamTar reared back like a shying horse. "You consider such drivel important?" he asked.

"Sure," John said, then dismissed that topic with a wave of his hand. "Those are just examples. Some societies value honor above everything, while others stress inner peace and enlightenment as the ultimate achievement. My point is that 'perfection', like 'infinity', is an unrealistic goal. You can never reach it, because you can always imagine something bigger or better.

"Besides," he continued, pacing around the alien scientist and drawing his eyes along with him, "even if you ultimately manage to reach something you consider 'perfection', what then? What would you do with it once you had it?"

This question seemed to give the alien pause; he did not offer any immediate reply.

Unfortunately, Kornata chose that quiet moment to sneak up behind NamTar with a syringe. Whether it was an unconscious flicker of his eye, or simply NamTar's preternatural hearing that detected the woman's nervous respiration, John would never know. One moment everything was going according to plan, and the next NamTar raised a clawed hand, still looking at John, and Kornata was flying across the lab into a wall. The syringe flew out of her hand and skittered away.

"You sought to trick me, Peacekeeper? You thought, perhaps, that I did not expect this?" The voice was both smooth and deadly cold.

John was stunned; his careful planning had fallen to pieces so quickly. He reached to draw the pulse pistol that still rode on his thigh, but only got as far as touching the release before his muscles stopped responding and he found himself frozen in place.

"Your puny weapon is no threat to me, but you might damage important equipment. This I cannot allow."

Aeryn, though she had no knowledge of the details of John's plan, apparently sensed the importance of Kornata's syringe and dove for it. Unfortunately, she too succumbed to NamTar's psychic paralysis in mid-lunge, and ended up crashing to the floor in a painful-sounding tumble. Her hand struck the syringe and sent it skidding even further across the room until it disappeared under the crimson drapery and into the darkness of the dungeon alcove.

NamTar padded slowly around the room, surveying his four immobile captives. Two lay sprawled on the floor like discarded rag dolls, while the others stood frozen. "Pitiful specimens," he scoffed. "I was willing to let you leave in peace, in return for my prize. But since you have so kindly 'volunteered,' I believe I can find a use for two more Sebaceans in my research."

"Damn it, NamTar," John gritted out through clenched teeth, "do you really thing you can take on an entire Peacekeeper warship? They'll blow you and your precious research into micro meteors!"

"I highly doubt that," the scientist replied, dismissing the possibility with a wave of his clawed hand. He was still circling the room like a hungry vulture. "An attack on an unarmed, civilian commerce station such as this, here in the Uncharted Territories so far from Peacekeeper jurisdiction, would attract all sorts of undue attention to their activities in this region. A few crewmen here and there would probably rank as acceptable losses to maintain their secrecy and access to these areas."

"Maybe you'd be right, Einstein," John replied, more confidently, "if we were just your average bunch of grots. But one of your 'acceptable losses' is the brother of a command carrier captain. Captain Crais finds out you've been messing with his baby brother, and he'll be out here to kick your ass so--"

"RRAAARRRGGHHGRRR!!!"

The saurian roar of pain and surprise rang in the small space like a gunshot, cutting off John's threats. He couldn't see what had caused the outcry, since NamTar was behind him and he couldn't turn his head.

As the roar reached its peak, however, the induced catalepsy holding all of them in place disappeared like a switch being flipped. John stumbled, catching himself on a table as his body leapt forward, and turned around.

The great and terrible creature that had been NamTar was writhing on the floor, flesh melting and morphing faster than the eye could track, his roars of pain and betrayal becoming screams, and then high-pitched animal wails. In less than a dozen microts, the once-towering figure had shrunk into a tiny, rodent-like creature about the size of a groundhog, with long, gangling legs, huddled in the pile of metal and leather that had been the scientist's clothing.

John stumbled across the room to look down at this pathetic beast. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aeryn and Kornata getting slowly to their feet, and even Tauvo was shuffling over for a better look.

"What...? How...?" John fumbled for the right question, then spotted the answer. Sprawled on the floor, her body half-concealed by the crimson drape across the doorway, was the partially transformed figure of the Delvian woman John remembered meeting his first day here. Instead of the gorgeous blue he remembered, her skin was mottled with purple, looking like the worst case of bruising he'd ever seen. He scalp was erupting into a dozen small protrusions that looked like...flower buds? She gazed up at him with preternatural calm and opened her clenched left hand to reveal Kornata's syringe. Her right hand, which had been shackled to the wall inside, was shrunken and withered.

"You got him?" John asked, unnecessarily.

"Yes. You preoccupied him with thoughts of attack from above, and instead his demise came from below. I injected him in the foot as he walked by. May the Goddess forgive me, I even enjoyed it."

John looked at Aeryn, Tauvo, and Kornata, and then broke into relieved laughter.

Gasping for breath, he exclaimed, "I love it when a plan comes together!"

Aeryn and Tauvo glanced at each other, then at him. Then they just shook their heads, identical expressions of resignation on their faces, in spite of Tauvo's half-Pilot features.

"Whaaat?"

* * *

Two arns later, Aeryn stood by Tauvo Crais' side as the last hints of his transformation faded away, leaving behind a purely Sebacean, handsome physique once again.

Across the room, Crichton and Kornata were still doling out serum to the last of the station's hundreds of residents who had suffered at the hands of NamTar's scientific ambitions. NamTar himself, or the tiny creature he had now become, was huddled pathetically inside a cage in the corner, ignored and forgotten.

With the grace of age and inner peace, the Delvian woman, blue once again, with her legs restored to function and her self-shriveled hand healing slowly, ducked through the curtain from NamTar's dungeon, now empty of all but the unlucky few. Zhaan had insisted on blessing the final journey for those who did not survive the cure, whose original forms were too delicate or too old to live without their transformations. Crichton had expressed some guilt and regret at the losses, but Zhaan had pointed out that their suffering, at least, was over.

Gathering her tattered blue robes, with her shroud of dignity intact, the Delvian priest approached Lt. Crais. Crichton had found food for the half-starved inmates of the dungeon, and the hunger-induced buds were fading from her scalp. Her blue eyes showed no fear in facing this Peacekeeper before her.

"I presume," she said in her serene voice, "that you will be wanting to take me back into custody."

Crais paused, looking at her with an odd expression. After several microts, he replied, "Without your actions, we would all be prisoners of NamTar, or dead. If you should choose to leave now, I am in no condition to pursue you. I need never even mention that you were here in any of my reports."

The blue woman gave a quintessential Delvian gesture, both open hands skimming across her head and ending up clasped together between her breasts. "Compassion from a Peacekeeper; I would never have expected to see such a thing in my lifetime. Perhaps, indeed, I will not regret my decision after all. Officer Sun here tells me that the Leviathan Moya and her Pilot will be returned to Peacekeeper custody, and that you will attempt to rehabilitate them."

"That is true," Crais acknowledged.

"I offer to stay and become your prisoner once again, to complete my sentence for the crime I committed. In return, however, I would ask that I not be transferred to Terron Raa as previously scheduled. Allow me to remain aboard Moya. I am partly responsible for her current condition, and I wish to make amends by rendering what assistance I may with my skills as a healer. I can ease her pain, if nothing else."

"You would return willingly to Peacekeeper custody?" Crais voiced the question, but it echoed Aeryn's own thoughts. She had few illusions about the treatment of Peacekeeper prisoners; the job of guarding such criminals belonged to the lowest of the grots, those who were unfit for any other task. They tended to unleash their frustrations and cruelty on the aliens they were set to watch over, a practice that, while not officially sanctioned, was not discouraged either. For this woman to abandon her hard-won freedom and choose to return to that was almost incomprehensible.

"If I can help heal the gentle souls of Moya and Pilot, who were our friends and protectors throughout the trials of the past cycle, it will be my honor."

"If that is your wish," Crais nodded, "I will arrange it."

The Delvian nodded and turned away to join Crichton and Kornata. NamTar's erstwhile lab assistant had responded well to her own serum; her right hand was once again a normal size, and her features had evened out into the stocky, white-eyed, nearly Sebacean form of her native race.

Aeryn turned to Crais, looking down at the man curiously. "Sir, may I ask a question?"

He gazed up at her with a slight smile. "Officer Sun, you just helped save my life. I believe we can dispense with some of the formalities, at least in private. What do you wish to know?"

"Why did you offer to let the Delvian escape? Her recapture will ensure a positive reception for you back on the Intruder; without it, Reljik might have succeeded in claiming you were still contaminated."

"Possibly, though I think you rather underestimate my ability to put that drannit Reljik in his place. As for the Delvian...I have my own reasons for offering to release her. Just as I have my reasons for not reporting a conversation I overheard recently, about injuries and attempted desertion not mentioned in a certain officer's mission report."

It took a microt for the import of that statement to sink in. Then she recalled her conversation with Crichton just a few arns before, while they were both standing over a man they had assumed was asleep or unconscious. "You heard that?"

Crais smiled. "Yes. Don't worry, Officer Sun; I try not to make a habit of betraying people who have saved my life. It might discourage others from saving it in the future. From what little I overheard, it sounds as if you, Crichton, and Renaez had a much more interesting adventure these past few monens than your reports indicated. And there is far more to this 'human' than I had originally suspected. I'd like to hear the tale sometime, from all three of you. Off the record, of course."

Aeryn looked over at Crichton, who happened at that moment to be looking in their direction. She smiled. "There certainly is more to Crichton than meets the eye. I'm sure he'd be happy to tell you the story."

TBC...


	8. Spies Like Us

**Episode**** 7 - ****Spies Like Us****  
**

_"That man...he is an imposter." -- Scorpius  
_

"Tauvo, how many times do I have to tell you? You can _not_ shoot the quarterback!"

Aeryn sighed. Ten solar days ago, Crichton had made a comment to Tauvo about the lack of competitive sports among the Peacekeepers. The resulting argument had ultimately led to a comprehensive and detailed overview of a human exercise called 'foot ball', Crais actually encouraging Crichton's dissertations with active curiosity and questions.

They'd even gone so far as to program a standard holographic tactical simulator with the conditions and proper numbers of troops to mimic the stylized military exercise. Now, off-duty and sharing a table in the officers' lounge, Aeryn was witnessing their continuing attempts to 'score touchdowns.' If they kept it up, she was going to need another drink.

Tauvo muttered something in his native colonial dialect, the words obscure enough to defy translation. Odd...Sebacean root languages, even ones with centuries of divergence, rarely bypassed the translator microbes. Perhaps it was a phrase borrowed from an alien tongue; even languages could suffer from contamination.

"Don't give me that," Crichton snapped good-naturedly, pointing an accusing finger at Crais. "Whatever that was. This is strictly hand-to-hand, Tauvo, no weapons allowed. The challenge is to keep the quarterback from advancing the ball without killing him. Just...just pretend your CO wants him alive for questioning."

Tauvo nodded reluctantly and went back to staring at the display. From the opposite side of the table, Gilina was looking at it, too. "John," she asked, "do your people really use this type of training?"

"Well," John admitted, "this really isn't considered a martial training exercise on my world; that was just the easiest way to explain it to Mr. Super-soldier here. We're not nearly as focused on war and military action on my planet, at least most of the time. This is a sport. A game, played for entertainment. But many of the skills and abilities you look for in your soldiers--strategy, skill, speed, the will to win--are also key to being a good player. Kids where I come from look up to the guys who excel at this sport, just like kids here idolize great war heroes."

Gilina glanced over at Aeryn, who responded with a noncommittal shrug and a raised eyebrow. She, too, found Crichton and Crais' fascination with this 'game' incomprehensible. Perhaps it was a male thing.

"Lt. Crais?" came a disembodied female voice.

His posture unconsciously straightening to attention, Crais tapped his comms and replied, "Yes, Lt. Teeg?"

"Please locate the alien Crichton and report with him to the Captain's office."

"Acknowledged," Crais said shortly, then glanced at his companions with a rueful grimace. "Well," he said, relaxing back into his chair, "where do you think I should start looking for this Crichton character?"

"Very funny, bro," the human replied with a snort. He shut down the holo-imager and tucked it away. "Wonder what Captain Bigwig wants with me?"

The two men took their leave quickly, heading for the double doors and their appointment with the captain. Gilina, typically, remembered a task she'd left incomplete and departed as well.

Aeryn smiled slightly at the tech's retreat. She and Tauvo had rank and status enough to ignore some minor points of propriety. Crichton, essentially an outsider and with no official status at all, was oblivious, and would probably not care if he knew. But Gilina Renaez, Peacekeeper tech, born and raised in service, was feeling the full weight of all the unwritten rules she was violating just sitting in the company of officers. Without Crichton's presence to encourage her, she would always find an excuse to be elsewhere.

Left suddenly alone, Aeryn tried to decide whether to get herself another drink or just head for her bunk. She was about to opt for sleep when a familiar voice spoke from behind her.

"Hello, stranger. Want some company?"

Aeryn turned, smiling. Behind her stood Officer Yal Henta, her friend and comrade since they'd been in Prowler Attack School together at sixteen cycles. "Join me, please," she said eagerly.

The blonde-haired pilot sat down and pushed one of the two glasses she'd been holding across the table to Aeryn. "I've heard some very unlikely stories about your last assignment," she began. "More excitement than you'd expect for a tech mission."

"The stories are probably all true," Aeryn said, smirking.

"It would have been nice to hear those stories from you, Sun. You've been back aboard for over three weekens," Henta pointed out, "and yet I've barely seen you in all that time."

Aeryn looked down at her hands, folded together on the cold metal table. "I've been busy. Marauder training. Now that I'm not flying Prowlers anymore, there's fewer opportunities for us to run into each other."

"That's not the only reason," Henta argued, with a gesture indicating the previous occupants of the table. "People are starting to talk about the company you're keeping these days. Lt. Crais, I can understand; he's good looking and very well-connected. A good relationship to cultivate, if he's noticed you. Possibly even a good frell, though I know you're careful about such things. But the techs? And one of them not even a Peacekeeper, but some lesser species the captain adopted?"

This time, Aeryn met Henta's gaze unflinchingly. Unlike her inadvertent dissociation from old friends, she felt neither regret nor shame for her current choice of companions. "Do you recall the old saying, Henta, about shared battle forging allies out of adversaries? I spent over five monens in the Uncharted Territories, and for much of that time, my only crew were Crichton and Renaez. We survived battle with Sheyang scavengers, and the two of them saved my life more than once, both then and later. We had to work together to survive, and I know them better now than I knew the members of my Prowler unit."

She could see that Henta was still having trouble accepting a social relationship with a tech or an alien, no matter what the excuse.

"Think about it this way, Henta. We soldiers are supposed to exemplify all the Peacekeeper virtues: discipline, loyalty, courage, strength, perseverance. But many of us don't quite live up to those ideals. In spite of what High Command might think, we're not all perfect soldiers.

"But the same misperceptions apply to techs. We look down on them as weaker, less able than we are. We dismiss them as useless. With some of them, our perceptions are true, but not all of them. Some, like Renaez, possess qualities of bravery and fortitude that any soldier would be proud to claim. And Crichton, for all his ignorance and primitive background, has a warrior spirit and a strong will. He saved my life on a number of occasions, when most others would have left me to die. If I choose to seek the company of such people after all we shared together, it is no one's business by my own."

"Hey," Henta protested, raising her hands in mock surrender. "Power down the cannons there, Sun. I'm not your enemy. I won't say any more about it."

Aeryn could tell Henta wasn't really convinced, just humoring her. It took more than mere words to change opinions forged by a lifetime of propaganda. She should know.

* * *

John stood facing Captain Crais' desk, trying not to fidget. He'd forgotten how big this room was; this was the first time he'd been back since the day he'd arrived on board, nearly a year before.

Tauvo had come with him only as far as the door. When it opened, he'd shared one significant look with his brother, nodded, and simply walked away, leaving John standing confused and directionless. Obviously whatever was going on was something Tauvo already knew about. John tried to settle his nerves with the assurance that it couldn't be too bad or Tauvo would have said something. But the tension remained because, despite their growing friendship, John knew Tauvo's first loyalties were still to his brother and the Peacekeepers--though John couldn't swear which of the two came first.

"So, Crichton," the captain said smoothly, leaning back in his seat and folding his hands across his lap. "You have been back with us for over three weekens. How is your project proceeding with the data you acquired at Dam-Ba-Da?"

_All this just to ask about the wormhole research?  
_  
"We've made some progress," he began cautiously. "The data we gathered at least confirms that what I traveled through _was_ a wormhole. Some combination of the energy created by my slingshot maneuver and a solar flare triggered its formation. There was something missing at Dam-Ba-Da, though; what we made there wasn't fully formed, just the bare beginnings. As to what was lacking? No clue."

"How long until you resolve that problem?" Captain Crais asked, with the infuriating attitude of a man used to issuing orders and having things happen immediately.

John called up the calm, elementary-school tone he'd used on every clueless, impatient IASA bureaucrat he'd ever had to schmooze for funding. "Scientific breakthroughs can't be ordered or scheduled, Captain. It takes time, meticulous trial and error, and far more data than we've acquired thus far. One of my planet's greatest inventors once said that success was one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration. It's going to take a lot of work, and I can't give you a time table. The answer is there somewhere, though. I can almost smell it."

John expected the captain to get upset at the news, but he just nodded thoughtfully. Then he changed the subject, abruptly.

"Tauvo has told me of your efforts on his behalf, in great detail. I have not had the chance until now to properly...thank you."

"Um...it was my pleasure, sir," John fumbled uncertainly. "I respect your brother, and couldn't just abandon him."

"He has also nearly managed to convince me that your strategy for the tannot production on Sykar will prove to be a great improvement over the traditional approach. Tauvo asked that I find some way to reward you for all the work you have done since you arrived, not the least of which was saving his life."

"That's really not necessary--" John objected.

"I am the captain here, Crichton," Crais interrupted brusquely. "It is my purview to decide what is and is not necessary."

"Um...okay."

"As you have probably learned," Crais continued, "Peacekeeper service is an honor reserved for Sebaceans, by law and long tradition. On rare occasions, however, there have been exceptions made to the purity regulations, for non-Sebaceans whose loyalty is proven and whose contributions, past or future, are deemed significant.

"After long discussion with Tauvo, and review of reports filed by Officer Sun and others, I petitioned High Command with a request. In recognition of your actions in preserving the lives of two Peacekeeper officers, and the potential value of your work, High Command just today has granted my request. I am hereby authorized to offer you, John Crichton, a Peacekeeper commission as a Crewman Specialist."

John gaped for a moment, speechless. This was, by far, the last thing he had ever expected. It took a few microts to wrap his brain around the concept, and even then he could only manage to address a small point, not the whole issue at once.

"'Specialist'? I thought I had the rank structure around here figured out, but that's a new one. Is it a tech grade?"

"It's not surprising that you haven't heard of it; there are very few present on this carrier. It is not a tech position; a Peacekeeper soldier who feels his greatest strengths lie in the intellectual rather than physical arena can apply to become a specialist rather than join a combat unit.

"It's not a popular choice, as specialists are viewed as second-class soldiers by the others. In addition, since they see much less combat action, their rate of promotion tends to lag far behind their peers. But for those with little interest in command, it can be a satisfying career path, or so Lt. Larell tells me. Your capabilities as a pilot, and your sessions with Sub-Officer Abljak, give you the minimum qualifications for the rank of crewman. As a specialist, you would not be taking part in any military action except in an emergency, and you could continue your work on wormholes."

"So you're offering to make me a Peacekeeper soldier, a non-combat one? Black uniform, pulse pistol, the whole nine yards?"

"Yes."

"Captain," he finally replied. "This is kind of sudden. Not so long ago, you had me walking around the ship under armed guard. Now you want me walking around armed?"

"As a tech, you would not have the authority to lead the wormhole project," Crais said, as if that explained everything.

John shook his head, dragging himself away from the minutiae and back to the big picture. "Look, Captain," he said, "I understand that you feel this is a great honor you are doing me. But I don't believe I can accept."

Crais' face darkened. "And why not?"

"My goal is the same as it was when I arrived: to find a way back to my home. I can't make long-term commitments here which would tie me down. Besides, I'm really not cut out for the military."

Crais scowled, but John refused to flinch. He had absolutely no desire to join up with this paranoid, hyper-regimented organization. Dealing with U.S. Navy had been bad enough, for the brief time he'd had to put up with it before they shipped his butt off to IASA.

"Tauvo said you might feel that way." Crais' expression took on a calculating air. "It's a pity, really," he said, trying to sound casual. "I've had a unique opportunity for you cross my desk, but without that commission I suppose we'll have to let it pass by."

John knew--just knew--that he was going to regret asking this. "What kind of 'opportunity'?"

Crais looked smug, as if he'd just scored a victory and John didn't know it yet. "I have received a request for the immediate transfer of six techs to a high security gammak base. There are rumors that the facility is pursuing wormhole technology. I had hoped to be able to send you as part of the tech contingent, undercover, to see if they might have the information you need to achieve success."

* * *

John sat on the tiny bunk of the Marauder's crew quarters, fidgeting self-consciously with the insignia that now decorated his tech-issue jumpsuit. The markings proclaimed him to be a Peacekeeper tech, tramco support division, maintenance provost. His shiny new ident chip, hanging by a chain around his neck, supposedly corroborated that small subterfuge instead of showing his rank of crewman specialist, though it still contained his true genetic profile. He missed having his dad's puzzle ring hanging there, where he could feel the connection close to his heart. But it was too risky, having such an alien artifact displayed openly, so the ring was hidden away in an inside pocket.

He could feel Gilina's eyes on him from across the room, though he was never quick enough to catch her staring.

"Gilina," he finally said, shattering the silence, "is something bothering you?"

She denied it, very unconvincingly, and refused to meet his eyes.

"'Lina, I wish you'd talk to me about it, whatever it is. Maybe there's something I can do. It's not like you to be so quiet."

She opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again without making a sound. The process repeated several times as she searched for the right words, before she finally blurted out, "Are you planning to stay now?"

"What?" John asked, confused. Stay where? The gammak base?

"John, ever since I've known you, you've said you wanted to go home, to get away from the Peacekeepers where you were reviled and despised simply for not being Sebacean. You even convinced me that I could find a place out there with you, a better life away from all this.

"But now they've accepted you, offered you a place among them with authority and power. And you agreed to it, took the oath and put on the uniform. Are you now planning to remain here with them?"

John moved over and fell to his knees in front of the woman he'd grown to love. "Gilina, nothing has changed. I still plan to go home, and I still want you to come with me. I only took Crais' offer for one reason: this assignment. It was the only way to get access to this base we're headed for. They may have data there on wormholes, data we haven't had access to yet. It may be just what I need to break the impasse we're struggling with. But the thing that made me finally decide to accept was learning you were already on the list to go. I didn't want you to go without me."

"But what about the oath you took?"

"I thought about that, and I turned Crais down at first for that very reason. But then I realized: you had already committed to deserting the Peacekeepers whenever we got the opportunity. What difference does it make if we're _both_ deserting, instead of just one of us? If it helps any, I had my fingers crossed the whole time I was taking that oath." He grinned, trying to make light of his moral quandary.

Gilina let out a breath, sounding like she'd been holding it for days. He hands gripped John's tightly and her eyes squeezed shut, emotions she'd been repressing bursting to the surface.

"You were really worried about this, weren't you?" John asked.

She nodded, still cutting off the circulation to his fingers. "I want us to go, as soon as we can."

"That's still the plan, but what's with the sudden urgency?"

Gilina jumped to her feet and retreated to a far corner of the tiny room, arms wrapped tightly about her midsection, leaving John still crouched by her bunk. "You know those medical exams we had to get before we left?" she said.

John nodded. Not like he could forget; they'd given him the full treatment, probed and sampled parts he hadn't even known he possessed. As a non-Sebacean, there was no baseline for the medtechs to work from, so they had to record everything for his new Peacekeeper records. It had been worse than the exam they'd done the day he arrived.

"The patient is not supposed to be told any of the results of their exam; it keeps them from getting distracted from their duties by health concerns. Any abnormalities are reported to their commanding officer, instead, who then makes decisions about treatment or change of duty assignments. With a fellow tech, however, the medtechs will sometimes violate that rule if there is something they think we would want to know."

"My god, Gilina, is something wrong? Are you sick?"

"No, John," she said, hugging herself tighter. "I'm pregnant."

Having sprung to his feet in his flurry of concern, John now sat back down hard on the bunk. "Pr..."

"I would like to have this child, John."

"Preg..."

"And if we stay, they will never allow it to live."

"P-Pregnant?" John finally managed, his brain having frozen up at that single concept. "B-But, how is that possible?"

"John," Gilina admonished, a faint smile breaking through her strained expression for a microt, "I didn't expect to have to explain _this_ process to you."

"But we're totally different species...appearances aside, we're not even _related_ species. My people evolved somewhere on the other side of the universe."

Gilina's smile collapsed as if it had never been. "I'm sorry this doesn't please you, but I still--"

"Doesn't pl--" John leaped to his feet and pulled the trembling woman into a tight embrace. "'Lina, baby, I'm sorry. I _am_ pleased. I'm delirious. I'm ecstatic!" He pulled back and gazed into her eyes, willing her to believe it. "I'm just a little confused, that's all. I never even dreamed this was possible."

"Sebacean DNA is compatible with a number of species. It's a matter of great concern to High Command; why do you think they have so many purity regulations and contamination protocols?"

John hadn't thought of it like that before, but he supposed it made sense. After all, the deep South, in the years before desegregation and civil rights, wouldn't have felt the need to pass so many anti-miscegenation laws if the races hadn't been _able_ to interbreed. There'd have been no point.

"It's really their own fault, of course," Gilina scoffed.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, not them personally, but their predecessors. Peacekeepers have been around, in one form or another, for thousands of cycles, so long that their origins have been forgotten. Throughout the centuries, there have been constant efforts to improve the breed, to create a better soldier, the perfect Peacekeeper. Early genetic modifications were done at the whim of local regimental commanders, with little or no coordination, nor regard for how it would influence compatibility except with the basic Sebacean stock."

As if finding comfort in a dry, scientific topic, Gilina gradually relaxed as she spoke. "Over time, the changes progressed so far that the altered genotypes from one regiment could no longer interbreed with those who had received different mutations. Even worse, there was far more interaction with civilian colonists in those days, so the changes--and the compatibility problems--spread into the general population over the course of centuries. Eventually, it became a serious concern, as more and more people were unable to procreate with their chosen mates. Methods were found to determine compatibility prior to choosing a partner, but many chose to mate for love, regardless of reproductive viability, and the population started to decline.

"By about two thousand cycles ago, the problem was growing severe. The Peacekeepers could no longer replace the large numbers of soldiers lost in battle with internal breeding and voluntary recruitment alone. That's when mass conscription of children from Sebacean colony worlds began."

"Oh, I'm sure that went over well," John commented sarcastically. "Stealing children from people who were already having trouble with a shrinking population."

"You have no idea," Gilina replied, shaking her head. "There was nearly a full-blown revolution, which only the military might of the Peacekeepers was able to put down. And even so, at least one faction managed to break away and relocate their colonies to the Uncharted Territories, away from the Peacekeepers.

"Anyway," she continued, realizing she had wandered away from her original topic, "the Peacekeeper leadership of the time chose to address the compatibility problem by modifying the very composition of our DNA. Their scientists somehow made the molecular structure more malleable, increasing the range of compatibility." She laced her fingers together tightly, then slowly loosened the knot to demonstrate.

"The unexpected side-effect of that was that not only were we Peacekeepers--and eventually Sebaceans as a whole--able to breed with each other freely once again, but we also became compatible with other races. There had always been a small incidence of interspecies relationships in the border areas, particularly with races like the Luxans, with whom we shared some commonalities of culture and values. But until that modification, children from such pairings were exceedingly rare.

"And that's why it's possible, John."

It took a second for John to recall where this history lesson had started, and his face broke into a wide grin. "A baby! We're going to have-- When are you due? How far along are you?"

She shook her head. "It doesn't work like that." She proceeded to explain the concept of stasis pregnancy, and the seven year window in which the stasis could be released.

"So, wait," John said, mind whirling with all these new concepts, "that means you could have been pregnant a long time, doesn't it? Are you sure the baby is...." He couldn't finish the sentence.

"Yours? Yes, John, I'm sure. I had the medtech go back to the results of my last physical, a cycle and a half ago. I wasn't pregnant then, and you are the only one I've been with since."

John's grin, if anything, got even wider this time. Inside his mind, he was doing a wild happy-dance, but outside, he struggled to regain his concentration. "You were saying you wanted to leave the Peacekeepers right away, because of this."

"Yes," Gilina said, sighing in frustration. "They may have waived the purity regulations for you, John, but they will never allow a half-breed child to come to term, much less grow up among them. If this child is going to survive, we need to leave before they have a chance to gene-test it."

"You said it takes a surgeon to release the stasis?" John found himself staring at Gilina's abdomen, as though he could see the new life there through sheer force of will.

"Well, a surgeon with a syringe containing a catalyst. If I can forge a request to the base medical facility, I can get that catalyst and administer it myself. If we're going to leave, John, this base we're going to may be our best opportunity." Gilina rubbed her hands along her thighs nervously.

"Crais said it was some kind of ultra-high security thing...you sure it wouldn't be easier to wait until we get back?"

"No, John, the base is perfect. The security is focused on keeping people _out_. If we can steal a ship--"

"It'll have to be a Marauder; that's the only kind we both know how to fly," John interjected.

"--a Marauder, then--I can program a blind spot in their sensors and they won't be able to track us. There won't be many ships available for pursuit, and the base itself is stationary. They'll report us, and someone will be sent to hunt us down, but for just a couple of techs they won't try too hard. By the time they get started looking, we should be long gone."

"You really think we can do it?" John whispered hopefully.

"Assuming there's a ship available that we can get to..." Gilina bit her lip, thinking it through. "We'll need time to stock it with supplies...to give me a chance to get the catalyst. I think we could leave four or five solar days after we arrive on the base."

"I love you, you know that?"

Gilina reached up and kissed him in response, no words necessary.

* * *

"Thanks for the lift, Officer Sun," John called, waving jauntily at their pilot as he and the other techs disembarked onto the gammak base.

"I will miss our conversations, Crichton," she replied. "And I'm sure Lt. Crais will miss playing your stupid game with you. We'll welcome your return when your work here is finished. Until then, good luck."

"Yeah, Aeryn, thanks," John replied. He'd miss them both, and wished he could say goodbye, but he couldn't risk revealing his and Gilina's plans to go AWOL, even to their former co-conspirator. "You have a nice trip back, okay?"

"It will be very quiet, having the ship to myself."

"It'll give you time to catch up on your reading," John teased. "Or practice all that tech stuff Gilina was showing you on the trip out."

She gave him a good-humored glare, but didn't rise to the bait. "Be well, John Crichton," Aeryn said, holding out her hand for the human gesture he'd taught her.

He clasped it firmly. "Fly safe."

John climbed down out of the Marauder and joined the other five techs from Crais' carrier, all of them waiting for someone to arrive and process them in.

Looking around, he could already see that this place would never be mistaken for anything but a Peacekeeper facility. Standard industrial aesthetic, the only decorations the red and black insignia along the walls. It was perhaps a bit dingier than the carrier, and the air contained a faintly chemical smell, like petroleum.

They waited for nearly an arn after Aeryn took off before a security officer showed up. He scanned their ident chips perfunctorily, had them stick their hands in the genetic verification machine, and assigned them quarters. John's semi-spurious ident chip held up as promised, and the gene scanner didn't seem to notice he wasn't quite the same as the others.

Settling into his quarters took less than thirty microts; techs weren't issued much in the way of personal possessions, and none of his few things from Earth had come with him, for safety reasons. His first duty cycle would begin in less than an arn; after that, he and Gilina would get to work.

They had it all planned out. During their duty shifts, he and Gilina would perform the tasks they were assigned. Even though they were planning to leave soon, John still wanted to learn everything he could, so he'd be keeping an eye open for any wormhole information that might be lying about at the same time. Somewhere on this rock might be the one piece of data he needed to solve the puzzle and get himself--and his new family--home.

In their off-duty hours, once Gilina found them an appropriate ship, they would work quietly to prepare for a covert departure. Their greatest hope of success lay in Gilina's unparalleled skill at hacking into PK control systems, to create false requisitions and forge work orders. It was one of her more subversive hobbies, but one she'd never used in quite this way before.

Here in the privacy of his assigned quarters, John could allow himself to smile at Gilina's recent revelation of pregnancy, to _feel_ in a way he couldn't risk in public. It was joy, and anticipation, and fear--what his father would have called 'rattlers'. It was buying the ring for Alex, walking down the gangway for his first shuttle mission, or watching the sunrise on the morning before the _Farscape_ test. A child--his child--was a dream that, until he'd heard the words from Gilina's mouth, he hadn't realized how much he wanted. The news redoubled his worries about keeping Gilina safe when he got back to Earth, but it would also be the one thing that would make this whole nightmare--getting shot through the wormhole, all the struggle and homesickness, the pain his disappearance must have caused his family--worth it in the end.

* * *

Lying on his back, staring up at the tangle of wires and circuits in the underside of the data console, John waited for his work partner to tell him if the latest patch was holding.

This was just their second day, and John was already glad he and Gilina weren't planning on sticking around long. The tension on this base was oppressive, in everyone from the lowest tech up to the Commander himself. It was like everyone was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The two of them had been incredibly lucky so far; Gilina found the perfect ship for their needs almost immediately: a Marauder transport long overdue for a major engine overhaul, sitting unused in a dusty corner of the hangar bay. The repairs had been delayed and rescheduled a dozen times as other projects were given higher priority. Gilina had tweaked the duty roster last night and had assigned herself the task, which she anticipated would take her less than two days.

Tonight, they would begin the quiet process of refueling and restocking the ship for a long journey, being careful not to attract undue attention. Once they were ready, Gilina would program the blind spot, requisition the catalyst from medical, and they'd slip away in the night.

John was startled out of his reverie when a sudden, dead silence fell over the room, stilling the voices of a dozen techs in an instant. From his cramped position under the consoles, he couldn't see the source, but the few faces he could see were frozen in quiet terror as if a dangerous animal had wandered in and no one wanted to attract its attention. Taking the hint, John stayed where he was and remained quiet.

A soft, deep voice broke the silence, from somewhere near the door. "Report," it said. "What progress?"

The officer in charge of the lab, Lieutenant Xhorel --a specialist, John had learned, feeling some slight amusement at finally meeting one only after _becoming_ one--replied, but his voice was too low and tentative to make out the words.

Whatever the response, however, it obviously failed to please his superior. John could feel the slow, heavy tread as the officer began a slow circuit of the room. "Unacceptable, Lieutenant," said the voice.

Black booted feet strode along the aisle past John's face. He was surprised to note the highly polished leather extending all the way up the figure's legs. A microt later, he sucked in a shocked breath as he caught a glimpse of the man's head and face through a crack between the consoles. The black leather covered his entire body and most of his head, leaving only a portion of the face visible. And that face....

John felt a chill of dread. It wasn't Sebacean. It was alien, menacing, reminding John strongly of Boris Karloff's characters in _Phantom of the Opera_ and _Frankenstein_--white as a corpse and twice as ugly.

The creature was speaking as he circled the room. "I expect results," it said in a cultured, sinister voice. "If you cannot provide them, Lieutenant, I shall have to find someone who _can_. I do not tolerate failure."

Xhorel babbled reassurances and promises of redoubled efforts. Apparently satisfied, or at least placated, the creature turned and left.

As the techs relaxed from their stiff postures and began to talk amongst themselves again, John tried to remember how to breathe. "Khall?" he called softly to his work partner. The dark-haired tech crouched down and bent to look under the console.

"What the frell was that?" John whispered.

Khall swallowed convulsively. "Scorpius," he whispered nervously, eyes darting around the room as if the specter would return at the very mention of his name. "He's in charge of everything around here. They say even Commander Javio is afraid of him."

"But _what_ is he?" John persisted. "That was no Sebacean!" Under the circumstances, John couldn't be sure if the disgust in his voice was entirely feigned, as so many of his responses had to be, for the sake of his role as a provincial PK tech.

"No one's sure," Khall admitted. "Some say he's part Scarran, others think he's a demon, that he can read our thoughts and see our deepest fears. All I know is he's punished or executed a dozen officers and techs since I've been here."

"What do you slijnots think you're doing?!" shouted Lt. Xhorel, appearing suddenly at Khall's shoulder. "Chattering like a five-headed trelkez! You heard Scorpius; back to work, or I'll have you all up on report!"

The officer was trying to be stern and threatening, but he just ended up sounding utterly terrified. Even so, everyone quickly went back to what they'd been doing before the chilling interruption.

_Scorpius_, John thought with a shudder. _Boy, am I glad we're leaving soon_.

* * *

On the evening of their fourth day, John was nearly dancing around in the confined space of Gilina's quarters, talking a blue streak. Gilina, for her part, was unable to get a word in edgewise and just sat, watching John with a bemused expression.

"They were equations, 'Lina--wormhole equations--they had to be!" John was babbling. "I only got a glimpse, just a few seconds before Lieutenant Tight-ass wiped the display, but I recognized a few of the descriptors. It's there, they really are working on wormhole theory! I just need to get a better look--"

"John."

"--obviously they haven't got it all figured out yet, either, but--"

"John."

John stumbled to a halt, both physically and verbally, as Gilina's voice finally penetrated his excitement. "Hmm?" he replied, distracted.

"We're ready."

"Ready?" Still caught up in his own thoughts, John wasn't parsing Gilina's information too clearly.

"Ready to go," she clarified. "The Marauder is fixed and stocked with enough supplies to get us to the nearest inhabited system. I programmed the sensor blind spot just before you got here. We can leave tonight."

"Tonight?" John realized he was sounding like a trained parrot.

"That was the plan, wasn't it? To leave as soon as we were ready?"

"Yeah..."

Gilina noticed his reluctance. "John, what's wrong?"

"Can we wait one more day?" he asked. "We should get some more supplies, food and water, just in case we take a wrong turn or can't stop at the first system we come to for some reason. A margin of safety, if nothing else."

Gilina arched a knowing eyebrow.

"And yes," John admitted sheepishly, "I would also like to get one more shot at studying those wormhole equations I saw. It could be just what we need to get back to Earth."

"I don't like staying any longer than we have to," Gilina sighed, hands folded protectively across her abdomen.

"It's just one more day, and we really might need the extra supplies. You know I'm still not an expert at flying these Peacekeeper ships."

Gilina still looked uncomfortable, but nodded reluctant assent.

* * *

It was the last day, last chance, and John was getting more frustrated with every passing minute. He'd caught a couple more brief glimpses of the hauntingly familiar equations, but still had no chance to study them.

Much of his frustration stemmed from his suspicion that, had Crais simply swallowed his pride and sent his new crewman specialist to the gammak base openly, John would have gotten his answers by now. As a tech, he simply did not have the clearance to see what he needed to see.

With less than half an arn until the end of shift, John was starting to reconcile himself to leaving the base with just what wormhole information he already had, scant though it was.

He and Khall had swapped positions today, the tech working underneath the latest work station console to go on the fritz while John watched from above to monitor the effects. As he stared at the fuzzy screen full of blue and black patterns, he was struck with a sudden feeling of deja vu that nearly made him laugh aloud. _It's the frelling blue screen of death_, he joked to himself. _Bill Gates' influence has spread further than we ever suspected!_

A few meters away, Lt. Xhorel was staring intently at a working screen, with the desperate, confused expression John remembered DK wearing the first time he'd opened a calculus text book. His friend had sworn he'd been issued the Greek translation by mistake.

John itched to be invisible, just for a minute or two, to look over the officer's shoulder and see if it would make more sense to him. Then, suddenly, as if the very universe was responding to his desires, an opportunity marched in, in the guise of a helmeted guard. The faceless grot spoke a few curt words to Xhorel, who blanched and swallowed nervously before following the guard out of the room. He was so flustered by the unexpected summons that he completely forgot to clear his screen.

John froze for a microt, almost unable to believe his luck, but then he shook it off and set to work. Gilina had showed him a trick last night, to remotely access data terminals. He couldn't do it while Xhorel was there, because the link wasn't subtle, or undetectable. But while the terminal was vacant, it was easy.

Cross-connect a couple of wires...feed the system an override command that neither he nor Gilina was supposed to know...and the fuzzed-out screen before him cleared, receiving data from a new source. Taking a deep breath to calm the rattlers raging in his gut, he looked down at what he'd come so far to see.

_What the hell?_

They were familiar, and yet not. Equations, symbols he'd never seen before in his life, and yet they tickled his brain with hints of something.

It was woefully incomplete, barely more than scratching the surface...he knew that, too, and yet he didn't know what was missing, or where.

Voices and footsteps approached from the corridor; he should shut down, disconnect from the other terminal before he was caught, but he couldn't move a muscle. Numbers and vectors whirled before his eyes, teasing him with not-quite-knowledge.

But that...there...that was....

"That's not right."

The words fell from John's lips in a quiet murmur he hadn't meant to utter aloud, and the sound dropped into the sudden, deadly silence of the room like a pulse shot. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see two black-clad figures in the doorway, looking at him.

Like a fly caught in amber, John stood staring at the screen, unable to even blink. The equation was wrong, badly wrong, but no matter how hard he looked he couldn't see _what_ was wrong about it. And he couldn't look away.

A voice behind him said, calmly, "That man, he is an imposter. Seize him."

The equations continued to burn into his mind until rough hands dragged him away.

* * *

"I am Scorpius."

_No shit, Sherlock._

John had to bite his tongue to restrain the hysterical impulse to mouth off, though hysteria seemed perfectly justified at the moment. Strapped into something that reminded him a little too much of an electric chair, spinning slowly in the center of the dark chamber--it was like a Disney ride from hell. _Stick with the persona, John; you're a meek little tech._

"I don't understand why I'm here," he said. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Name," Scorpius ordered.

"John Crichton. Tramco support, maintenance provost. On temporary reassignment to this base." He'd had that litany drilled into his head the whole trip here.

"Unfortunately, wrong, on all counts," replied the black-hooded creature, now leaning into John's field of view. He lifted a gloved hand, gesturing to the arctic-eyed redhead behind the console.

She flipped a switch, and the chair's resemblance to the electric chair suddenly ceased being a fanciful one. Shock sang through his body, as if he'd touched a live wire with every square inch of skin at once. The pain was excruciating, but brief, and he gasped for breath as it faded.

"You look quite Sebacean," Scorpius pointed out calmly, as if nothing had happened, "yet your energy signature is quite dissimilar. What species are you?"

_Oh crap, how did he know that?_ "You're no poster boy for racial purity, either," John replied irritably. The comment broke free against his will, stress overriding restraint and tact as per usual. He winced, expecting another zap for his impertinence.

Scorpius merely tilted his head curiously. "Perceptive," he replied in a voice heavy with irony, "but irrelevant. Who are you working for?"

The question caught John by surprise, and he barely had time to register Scorpius lifting a gloved hand. There was no time to brace himself.

Not that it would have done any good.

Fire raced up John's spine and exploded in his brain, searing pain all through his body.

_Oh god..._

Muscles seized, bruising wrists and ankles as they jerked against the harsh restraints.

_Make it stop..._

The conflagration spread from the center of his brain outward, sending images and memories flashing before his eyes like birds fleeing a brush fire.

_So your life really_ does _flash before your eyes when you die_, noted the tiny portion of his mind that wasn't busy screaming. Senses failed as the agony increased, darkening his vision, leaving him deaf to anything but his own cries.

An eternity passed, spanning just a few heartbeats. The fires gradually receded to a few smoldering hot spots along his nerves and what felt like red-hot needles piercing his eyeballs. Lights and shapes flashed before his eyes, which at first he took to be nothing more than after-images of pain, resolved into pictures on the screen. Random, almost too fast to see, but John still recognized them. Images of fire and danger--the inferno on the _Zelbinion_, an angry Luxan gripping his throat, superheated plasma outside the window of the _Farscape_ during the first re-entry test, the ill-fated sling-shot maneuver--they were the very memories that had just flashed through his mind seconds before.

"What the hell was that?" he gasped out as soon as he could take a breath.

"A memory," replied the cadaverous alien smugly, still leaning over him with detached coolness. "Random and indistinct at the moment. It will take some time to map your neural patterns."

"You stay the hell out of my mind, you--" he began, rage flaring and adrenaline numbing the residual pain. His tirade was cut off in a convulsive splutter as the machine flared to life again, pulling him back down into the abyss.

_Damn Crais for getting me into this...._

The chair caught that thought and dragged it to the surface, along with memories linked to it.

Flashes of space, of ships: shuttles, his module, a Leviathan, Crais' carrier. A Marauder that had been his home for five of the strangest, scariest, most exciting months of his life. Faces: human, Sebacean, Luxan, Delvian, Sheyang, and Sykaran; Tauvo, Dad, Zhaan, Gilina--_no, mustn't think about her_--Crais.

The images briefly settled down enough to distinguish fragments of conversation.

* * *

_"Sir, he claims to be a 'human', from a planet  
called 'Erp'."_

_ "Your vessel appeared on our scans during the  
battle, out of nowhere. Our readings indicate a  
low level of technology, no weapons or shields in  
evidence. Now, normally, something so primitive  
would be of no interest to us."_

_ "At the moment, you aren't worth the air we  
would waste to flush you out an airlock."_

* * *

The searing heat faded. John felt a preternatural chill flash over him. Whatever this machine was, it could read his mind, pull free his most private recollections. Gilina...oh, shit, Gilina, sitting in her quarters, waiting for him to get off shift, ready to flee the base with him, pregnant with his child...he couldn't let Scorpius see, couldn't let this bastard know who she was, what they had planned.

Inside his ravaged mind, John started building walls.

* * *

* * *

_"In recognition of your actions in preserving  
the lives of two Peacekeeper officers, and the  
potential value of your work, High Command just  
today has granted my request. I am hereby  
authorized to offer you, John Crichton, a  
Peacekeeper commission as a Crewman Specialist."_

* * *

"Clever, this Captain Crais of yours," Scorpius murmured as John's cries faded to breathless gasps. "To take a lie and turn it into truth, merely to plant another lie over it."

"I'll be sure to tell him you were impressed," John spat back, his voice hoarse. Defiance was the only weapon he had left, to prove to himself he wasn't broken.

"It takes a great deal to prove your worth to a Peacekeeper captain, especially when you lack the proper genetic make-up," Scorpius mused, almost to himself. "Harder, perhaps, in my case, as I had to overcome my Scarran heritage."

_So the bastard_ is _a Scarran_. What the hell was he doing on a Peacekeeper base? The Peacekeepers detested the Scarrans.

If this were an old superhero comic book, the villain would be gloating, enjoying his victim's pain and his own sense of power. John thought that might actually be an improvement at this point; the antagonism would at least keep him angry, spur his determination. At first glance, his nemesis fit the part of the archetypal villain perfectly, but Scorpius' utter detachment and businesslike calm inspired nothing in John but despair. He fought it, but it was growing more difficult.

Scorpius kept pacing around the edge of the platform, counter to the chair's rotation. It was making John dizzy.

"This captain of yours," Scorpy commented finally. "He must have had a reason for choosing you as his spy. I'd like to see more of that."

John knew what was coming by now, and had to bite his lip to keep himself from begging, pleading for mercy.

_Concentrate. Don't let him see her._

Through the haze of pain and the sweat stinging his eyes, he saw the machine find more of that last meeting with Crais.

* * *

_"What kind of 'opportunity'?"  
"I have received a request for the immediate  
transfer of six techs to a high security gammak  
base. There are rumors that the facility is  
pursuing wormhole technology."  
"And you couldn't just...you know...slip me  
in under the radar?"  
"Not as such; access to most of the facility  
is security three velka. Without a valid ident  
chip matching your genetic code, you wouldn't get  
two motras."  
"If there's a real wormhole research project  
out there, why not just ship me and my team off to  
join them openly? If we pool our resources, we'd  
probably figure it all out that much sooner, and  
it would get me out of your hair."  
"Tempting, but the achievement would then be  
credited to __that project."  
"You don't just want wormholes for the greater  
glory of the Peacekeepers," John realized. "You  
want them for you, as something to put on your  
resume."  
Crais got up and started pacing around the  
room. "I've never been one of the elite,  
Crichton, did you know that? My parents were  
common farmers. I was never afforded  
opportunities that space-born Peacekeepers are  
given; I rose through the ranks on my wits,  
but some doors were always closed to me. If,  
through your efforts, I can present High Command  
with working wormhole technology, those doors  
will swing wide and I can rise to where I  
should be."  
A long pause.  
"If I were to agree to this--"_

* * *

The image froze there, and an alarm sounded at the console. "He's resisting," reported the woman running the machine.

For the moment, however, her boss didn't seem to care. "Our spy has an interest in wormhole technology. Interesting. Find what he knows."

The two of them watched dispassionately when John began to scream.

* * *

_"Entering critical apogee phase."  
"Farscape One, hold a moment!"  
"Hold? Canaveral, what?"  
"Meteorology reports some kind of electro-  
magnetic wave, repeat, some kind of wave. John do  
you read me?"  
"Yeah, I'm reading you. What kind of wave?  
Is it a solar flare? Canaveral?"  
Static, garbled voices.  
"Canaveral?!"  
Through the static, he heard his father's  
voice shout "Abort!" but it was too late. A  
blue wave of energized plasma washed over the  
module, the force throwing it into a spin and  
tumble. Through the turbulence and the struggle  
to regain control, he noted he was falling  
through a blue tunnel, unlike anything he'd ever  
seen before._

_ "This technology interests me. In order to  
further Peacekeeper research, I am considering  
allowing you to remain aboard, to assist our techs  
in researching the problem."_

_ "Tauvo, take this Crichton down to medical  
and have them do a full bioscan. I will contact  
Chief Gelvis and have some techs assigned to  
the project."_

_ As he neared apogee, he heard a voice  
calling out to him. "... ohn, we...tecting...  
lar flare ... ear me?"  
A bright light, just as he was ready to pull  
up. When his eyes stopped blinking at the  
overload, they were drawn upwards, to a blue  
light. A funnel shape, twisting and spinning,  
leading down to nowhere. Gorgeous..._

* * *

"He's still putting up blocks, sir."

"Of course he is," Scorpius replied, unperturbed. "Break through; he must know more about wormholes."

_Keep him out...don't let him see..._

* * *

_"There are but a few places we can live. The  
Ancients have stories of a world that will welcome  
us. We can only hope they're true."_

* * *

More beeps from the console as the scene froze up again.

"Another block?"

"Yes sir," the woman replied. "Much stronger than before."

"Really, Crichton," Scorpius scolded. "You are only making this more difficult on yourself."

"Wasn't me," John gasped back, grateful for the reprieve, whatever the reason. "Don't ya hate it when the batteries go dead?" he laughed, more than a little hysterical with pain and exhaustion.

"Break through, increase the extraction level," Scorpius ordered, showing the first hint of emotion John had seen.

_Oh...fuck...._

Up until now, the scenes playing out before John's eyes had been like watching a rerun of "This Is Your Life". This time, though, there was something...new.

It was him, and the Ancient who called himself Jack--their last talk in the hive chamber, just as he remembered--but the words....

* * *

_"These equations are necessary for creating  
a wormhole."_

* * *

"I don't remember that..." John whispered.

* * *  
_ "You're teaching me how to--"  
"No. You cannot access this data consciously.  
You will not remember this part of our encounter.  
We will not give you wormhole technology."  
"Why not?"  
"If you're not smart enough to discover it  
on your own, you're not smart enough to handle it  
wisely. You'll have to find it yourself. The  
unconscious knowledge we've given you will guide  
you, nothing more. That's all that we can do  
for you, but that should be enough. You are  
already on the right path."_

* * *

"He...he gave me the equations." Shock, and betrayal, and a bare wisp of hope. He might have gotten home by now if they hadn't been so paranoid. He might yet, if he could figure it all out.

"Fascinating," Scorpius crowed, breaking his mood with a snap back to reality. "You sought wormhole knowledge, infiltrated this gammak base to find it, never realizing you already possessed it." Turning to the woman at the controls, his voice grew deep, harsh, and belligerent. "Find it. Segment his mind, as many layers as it takes."

Self-control failed, and John gave in to panic. They were going to rip him apart. "No," he begged, desperately. "No...please!"

His pleas fell on deaf ears.

* * *

Huddled against the cell's stone wall, John wrapped his arms tight around his ribs in a futile attempt to control the shivering that wracked his body. His cell mate, the manic ghost of Christmas future, had been dragged cheerfully off to take his own turn in the Chair, leaving John alone in the dark. Exhaustion, both physical and mental, demanded that he sleep, but fear and the adrenaline still pumping through his system denied him the relief of unconsciousness.

An electronic crackle issued from the surveillance panel on the wall, followed by a blessedly familiar voice.

"John?"

She had to call his name twice before he could make himself believe his ears. "Gilina! Thank god...are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I went looking for you when you didn't come back after your shift. I heard the techs talking about your arrest. What happened?"

"Never mind that, it's not important. I need you to do something for me."

"Anything. What is it?"

"Leave. Take the Marauder and just go--"

"What? No! We've got to get you out of there!"

He shook his head. "Forget about me; I need you to be somewhere safe, where they can't find you. They're ransacking my mind for information, stealing my memories."

A gasp. "The Aurora Chair?"

"If that's what Scorpy's little toy is called, then yeah. If they find you in there, find us, see what we had planned...they'll arrest you, kill the baby, and maybe execute you, too. Just go, find some planet I've never heard of and hide."

"I won't leave you, John. Just hang on. I sent a secure comm to Officer Sun, and she's going to pass the news along to the captain. He may be able to negotiate your release; technically, you're still under his command."

_Yeah, right,_ John sighed inwardly. He'd seen the avarice lighting up that Scarran monster's eyes. It was pure hunger, gold fever for the power locked inside John's skull. The bastard wasn't going to let him go until he got what he wanted.

No point in dashing Gilina's hopes, though. "I still want you out of here, 'Lina," he insisted. "If Crais can get me out, great. I'll figure a way to come find you, somehow, somewhere--"

"I can't stay tapped in too long, John," Gilina interrupted. "Just hang on; I'll think of something."

"Gilina, no!" he shouted, his voice rasping with abuse. He turned, facing the wall camera in desperation, calling out, but the electronic click of a cut connection was his only reply.

* * *

_Second verse, same as the first._

It was day three on the merry-go-round. Maybe. It was so hard to keep track of time. Thanks to his cellmate Stark, who wasn't nearly as crazy as he'd first appeared, John had gotten a little relief from the pain and fear last night, and actually slept for a little while. But even so, the exhaustion was inescapable. All John could feel, by this point, was tired amusement and vengeful satisfaction at Scorpius' mounting frustration.

They were searching every dark corner of John's memories, looking for wormholes and hitting nothing but the sturdy walls he'd erected to guard Gilina. The continued resistance only further convinced the Scarran bastard that John was deliberately hiding his knowledge, and drove him into a frenzy of annoyance. There was no sign at all that Gilina's call for help had done any good; Crais had probably just written John off as a loss and washed his hands of the whole affair.

John could feel his body weakening, his mind cracking around the edges. It would be a race. Would his body give out--heart failure, stroke, he wasn't picky--before his mind crumbled?

Scorpius and PK Barbie had given up trying to overpower John's neural blocks after the third heavy nosebleed, afraid to kill their prize goose before he laid his golden egg. The strategy now, it seemed, was to wear him down slowly, keeping the Aurora Chair at a low level for extended periods. He couldn't even work up the energy to scream after a while, and just sat, gasping, as he endured and prayed for an end.

* * *

_"Hey, Jimmy Dean!" a ten-year-old Johnny  
_ _Crichton called out. "Pick on someone your own  
_ _size!"  
_ _The older boy--his name was actually Lenny,  
_ _John would find out later--turned to look at  
_ _this new annoyance. His adolescent muscles were  
_ _already bulging through a skin-tight t-shirt; his  
_ _face wearing an exaggerated sneer. He dropped  
_ _the skinny little boy he'd been extorting lunch  
_ _money from and stalked towards John.  
_ _The small boy, instead of running away, took  
_ _heart from the unexpected support. He jumped to  
_ _his feet and kicked Lenny in the back of the knee.  
_ _Stumbling slightly, Lenny spun around in a  
_ _rage, but he still hadn't learned not to turn his  
_ _back on an opponent. A second kick from John,  
_ _better-aimed and on an already weakened knee  
_ _joint, sent Lenny crashing to the ground.  
_ _Instantly, John had an arm firmly around  
_ _the bully's neck in a choke-hold he'd learned  
_ _from his sister Susan, who used it remorselessly  
_ _on her baby brother when he was being a pest.  
_ _The smaller boy looked ready to punch Lenny in  
_ _the nose, but John waved him off.  
_ _"Bother us again," he growled in the bigger  
_ _boy's ear, "and we'll pound you into pudding.  
_ _Got it?"  
_ _Lenny beat a hasty retreat the second he  
_ _was released, leaving his two ex-victims standing  
_ _together in the school yard.  
_ _"Hey," the smaller boy said. "Thanks for  
_ _the help."  
_ _"No biggie. Name's John. John Crichton.  
_ _We just moved here from Annapolis."  
_ _"Doug Knox. Call me DK."_

_"Dammit, Aeryn, we've got to do __something.  
_ _He's getting worse, and no one else is lifting a  
_ _finger to help. His own crew has given up on him,  
_ _but I won't."  
_ _"And what do you think you can do, Crichton?  
_ _You're a tech--no, not even that--and you've  
_ _never even fired a weapon!"  
_ _"Fine, I'm an inferior being with no  
_ _redeeming qualities. But I have two hands and a  
_ _brain, and I can not just sit around and watch a  
_ _man suffer like this."  
_ _"What is he to you that you're so determined  
_ _to risk getting injured or killed in this insane  
_ _quest?"  
_ _"What were you to me, Aeryn, when I pulled  
_ _you out of that fire on the __Zelbinion? What were  
_ _you when you were paralyzed and I goaded you into  
_ _fighting back? What were you when that wormhole  
_ _appeared and I took you to my home world rather  
_ _than abandon you? You were a shipmate, Aeryn, a  
_ _comrade. You were someone I had come to respect.  
_ _Someone I had even started to consider a friend.  
_ _Well, the same is true of Lt. Crais here. I hope  
_ _I'd try to help __anyone who was suffering like  
_ _he is...."_

* * *

The chair powered down at a gesture from Scorpius, and the memory scene froze. There was a long silence as the half-breed stood unmoving, seemingly lost in thought.

"It is time to break this impasse," he finally declared, striding towards the door. "Keep Crichton here; I shall return shortly."

* * *

Two arns passed. John sat, still strapped helplessly into the inactive chair, with nothing to do but watch the techs bustle through their maintenance duties. Not one of them was willing to look him in the eye.

He worried for a while about what Scorpius had in store for him. Eventually, though, he succumbed to sheer exhaustion.

Many boot-clad feet pounding in the corridors woke him in time to hear Scorpy's taunting voice. "Time to end this game, Crichton," said the Scarran. He kept his eyes on John, watching for the slightest reaction. A black-gloved hand gestured toward the entrance.

John couldn't see at first, the chair having stopped with him facing the control panel. The reason for the bastard's assurance quickly became evident. Six techs, huddled in a frightened knot, shuffled into his field of view. Two armed guards stood on either side.

John's stomach dropped through the floor in sick horror when he saw that Gilina was one of them.

_No, that's not possible. I kept that secret, kept him from seeing...._

"What are you--" he started to ask, fearing the answer.

"In my explorations of your mind, Crichton," Scorpius broke in, as if John hadn't spoken, "I noted an interesting facet of your psyche. You have shown again and again that you value the lives and well-being of others--friends, acquaintances, even total strangers--enough to risk physical harm to yourself in their defense. It is a trait found to your degree in only a few other races I know of."

John tried to avoid looking at Gilina, so as not to give away her specific importance to him. It took a moment for him to realize that he knew all of the other techs in the group as well. Five of them, including Gilina, had traveled with him to the gammak base from Crais' carrier group. The sixth was Khall, his work partner from the lab.

"So," Scorpy continued, "if you will not give me what I want to save your _own_ life, perhaps you will do so to save the life of one of these innocent people. You know them all, do you not? Consider some of them friends?"

"Damn you, Scorpy!" John cried. "I've been telling you for three days: I'm not blocking anything about your precious wormholes! Let them go!"

"The equations are there, inside your brain. You have only to let me access them, and these techs will be allowed to return to their duties. It is quite simple, really."

Now, as Scorpy gestured to Niem to start the Chair, John realized that the bastard had won. He risked looking at Gilina, to see her frightened eyes staring back at him. He begged her forgiveness with a silent, pleading gaze; to save her life, he was going to have to risk exposing their secret. It was the only way to prove to Scorpy that he wasn't hiding the wormholes from him.

The chair began to spin, and the rising hum of the machine heralded the return of pain and memories. With a fearful sigh, John dropped his walls.

The first images to appear were of intimate moments, starting with their kiss on the _Zelbinion_, and he felt himself blush at having such memories broadcast for all to see.

Scorpius snorted with disgust and waved Niem to a halt after only a few memories had surfaced. He didn't appear to notice that the woman in the pictures was present in the room; he probably hadn't bothered to even look at any of the techs he'd had detained.

"These sexual escapades, entertaining as I'm sure they are, do not interest me. Show me the wormhole equations!"

"Please," John implored him. "I've stopped resisting; you've got everything now. I told you I wasn't hiding wormholes."

Niem confirmed that the blocks were gone, but Scorpius didn't want to hear it. Three more attempts yielded similar results, though none of the truly incriminating memories had surfaced yet. He remained aggressively disinterested in the relationship being revealed, and finally shook his head.

"I had hoped you would be reasonable, Crichton. Perhaps you believe I wasn't serious in my threats, and so you remain obstinate."

"No!"

"I think, perhaps, a demonstration of my sincerity might expedite matters."

"Oh, god, please! No!"

Pulse pistol gripped in one hand, Scorpius turned towards the group of techs. He raised the weapon, ignoring John's increasingly desperate pleas, and fired one shot.

TBC...


	9. A Cavalry of One

**Episode**** 8 - ****A Cavalry Of One****  
**

_"__That...is the radiant Aeryn Sun..." -- John Crichton  
_

Officer Aeryn Sun, special Peacekeeper commando and Marauder pilot, was bored out of her mind. All alone on a ship that usually held anywhere from five to seven people, she had no one to talk to and few duties to keep her occupied. This morning, she'd found herself doing maintenance on the hetch drive, just because she knew how. Tech work might be officially beneath the dignity of a Peacekeeper officer, but it did keep the mind occupied. She'd have to remember to thank Renaez when the techs got back to the carrier.

Five days. Five frelling solar days of this, and she still had four more to go before she reached the convoy. She'd have welcomed even Crichton's stupid 'foot ball' game at this point.

A quiet beeping roused her from her stupor, and she nearly pounced on the communications station, grateful beyond reason for something--anything--that would alleviate the solitude and silence.

Glancing at the indicators, she paused for a microt in confusion. A secure channel? From the gammak base? Why would the base be contacting her?

Taking a seat, she activated the descrambling subroutines and opened the channel. There was no visual, which was odd, and even the voice signal was weak.

"Officer Sun? This is Gilina...do you read me? Oh, please answer--"

"Gilina?" Aeryn replied. "What the frell are you doing using secured communications? Do you have approval for this transmission?"

"No, I don't, and I don't care. Just be quiet and listen, please."

Aeryn sat back, shocked at the tech's intensity. She had never, even in the casual informality of their monens in the crippled Marauder, spoken to Aeryn in such a tone.

"John's been arrested," Gilina continued, sounding like she was fighting back tears. "The techs who were there said the chief scientist, Scorpius, accused him of being an imposter. I don't know if John saw or did something he shouldn't have, or if this Scorpius somehow figured out he wasn't Sebacean. He may think John's a spy. Please, we have to get him out of there!"

"When did this happen?" Aeryn asked, all thought of reprimands gone.

"Just a few arns ago. We were...he was going to meet me in my quarters after his shift, and he never showed up, so I went looking."

"Why call me? This is something you should have reported directly to Captain Crais."

"I can't. I've tapped into the communications system, but I can't use the main transmitter without them detecting my signal. The auxiliary system doesn't have the range to reach the captain; I could barely reach _you_."

"All right, I'll do what I can. Get off this channel, Gilina, before they detect the signal and drag _you_ off to a cell, too. I'll contact the captain; maybe he'll be able to negotiate with this Scorpius for Crichton's release."

"Thank you, Aeryn," came the breathy reply. "Please hurry. I've heard some disturbing things about this Scorpius."

Aeryn wasted no time. The microt the comms channel closed, she opened another to the carrier.

"Control, this is Officer Aeryn Sun, aboard inbound Marauder transport Dekka Ten. I have an urgent message for Captain Crais."

There was no acknowledgement, just a beep. Standard procedure, to minimize unnecessary comms traffic and reduce the risk of interception. After about thirty microts, the holo-projector on her station flared to life. The face that greeted her, however, was not the captain's.

"Officer Sun," Lt. Braca greeted brusquely. He was Crais' third-in-command, and apparently it was his turn to command the nightwatch. "Captain Crais asked not to be disturbed; I will take your message and relay it to him when he arrives."

"With all due respect, Lt. Braca," Aeryn replied, "I believe the captain would want to hear my news immediately. It concerns Crewman Crichton's intelligence mission."

"I'm sorry, Sun, but the captain left strict instructions. Given the...circumstances, I would not care to violate that directive for anything less urgent than a Priority Red One communiqué from High Command."

_Ah,_ Aeryn thought, hearing Braca's insinuation,_ Lt. Larell must be back from her latest mission aboard Moya._ The leviathan specialist's involvement with her commanding officer was widely rumored, though never officially acknowledged.

If that was the case, then disturbing the captain right now, even with news of this importance, would only get her reassigned to waste extraction cleanup. Her news would have to wait until the daywatch.

She summarized the information she had received regarding Crichton's arrest for Braca, without specifying her source, and received his reassurances that he would pass along the message. They signed off, and Aeryn yawned.

Dealing with the carrier's nightwatch duty officer had reminded her that the hour was very late. Setting the proximity sensors to alert her if any objects approached too close to the Marauder, she headed for her bunk.

* * *

This was ridiculous.

Efficiency was one of the first principles of Peacekeeper life, in everything from battle and training to recreation and rest. Wasted time was dereliction of duty. Sleep was an unproductive but necessary activity, a need no geneticist had managed to breed out yet. As such, soldiers were trained to fall asleep quickly and awaken punctually, with as little time as possible wasted in restless contemplation.

So why, an arn after lying down on her bunk, was she still staring at the ceiling?

_What of Crichton?_ whispered a silent, treacherous voice.

Well, what _of_ him? There was nothing she could do for him, except what she'd already done in reporting his situation.

_"I've heard some disturbing things about this Scorpius."_

Gilina had said that. The real problem was, Aeryn had heard things, too. The induction of a hated Scarran, even a half-breed, into the Peacekeeper ranks had caused a lot of talk back when she was a young cadet, and rumors had continued to fly across space in hushed whispers ever since.

To think of Crichton--John--in that creature's hands....

Aeryn sat up suddenly and clambered to her feet with a frustrated growl. She stomped onto the command deck and looked around, but the silence that greeted her there was no more enlightening than the ceiling over her bunk had been.

Action. What she wanted--no, what she needed--was to _do_ something. But without orders....

_"T__o hell with your fucking orders...."_

The voice was Crichton's, resonating in her memory. Monens ago, in a Marauder's command chamber much like this one.

If their positions were reversed, if Crichton were here and she were the one in trouble...oh, she knew what he'd be doing. He'd done as much before. For her. For others.

Could she do any less for him?

Swift and sure, Aeryn's hands flew across the navigation console. She'd been cruising back to the carrier at a judicious hetch 4 for the past five days. With the flick of a few switches and a new set of coordinates input, she set a return course to the gammak base. At hetch 7, the top speed this vessel was capable of, it would still take her nearly three days to get back.

If Captain Crais were to order her back to the gammak base tomorrow to retrieve Crichton, this course change would give her several arns head start. If he ordered her back to the carrier, she could make up the lost time easily at this speed.

That is, if she chose to obey such an order.

Her hand paused in the air, hesitating over the final control. The actions she was contemplating, even this simple course change, verged on dangerous disobedience. A simple soldier such as herself was not supposed to be taking such initiative.

A brief flash of a mental picture--Crichton chained to a wall, the Scarran's hot breath searing across his neck. She shook off the image, took a deep breath to quell her anxiety, and slapped her hand decisively down on the panel. The Marauder swung about on its new course.

When she lay back down on her bunk a few microts later, she fell asleep instantly.

* * *

Crais called the Marauder within a quarter arn of the start of the daywatch, to reconfirm and get more details than Braca had been able to pass along. Unlike the lieutenant, Crais asked about her source for this information.

"One of the techs we sent," Aeryn dissembled, "sent a secure voice comms to me from the base's auxiliary transmitter, reporting the arrest." Crais did not inquire further into the tech's identity; it was quite believable that a soldier would not bother to learn the names of mere techs, nor be able to identify them by voice.

Immediately after severing his communication with her, Crais opened another tight-beam transmission, this time to the gammak base. The reason Aeryn knew this was that she and her Marauder were sitting on a direct line between the carrier and the base, and thus in a perfect position to 'accidentally' intercept the message.

It didn't take long for a very annoyed Scorpius to arrive on the channel.

"What is the meaning of this, Captain?" the Scarran's voice growled indignantly. "You risk exposing my entire operation with this foolhardy transmission!"

Crais ignored the complaint, replying in an equally forceful tone. "I am informed," he said, "that you have arrested one of the techs I recently transferred to your gammak base."

Crais paused there, and there was nothing but the crackle of static from the other end. Scorpius was probably trying to figure out how Crais could have known about that so soon. Aeryn hoped Gilina had hidden her tracks well.

"My compliments on the efficiency of your spies," Scorpius finally said in a mild tone. "I did indeed detain an alien who was apparently masquerading as a tech."

"I am aware that the man in question is not Sebacean," Crais said. "He was granted a commission through a special dispensation from High Command. Much as you were, if I recall correctly. Release him at once."

This time, the Scarran's tone was almost amused. "I have become aware of that, as well, Captain, during the course of my interrogation of the prisoner. He presents an interesting challenge for the Aurora chair design."

"Release. Him. Now."

"If it were only the initial subterfuge at issue here, Captain, then I would be happy to release your little spy. But he has been refusing to reveal information, vital information that he possesses regarding this base's primary field of research. My mandate for this project allows me wide latitude in acquiring the necessary data; I am well within my authority to detain him."

_Oh frell,_ Aeryn cursed internally. _What have you gotten mixed up in this time, Crichton?_

"The tech is still officially under my command, Scorpius; the reassignment was temporary. Return him to my custody and I will get the information you say he is concealing. It is possible he simply does not trust you due to your heritage. All the information he possesses will then be shared freely with your project."

"Really, Captain," Scorpius scoffed. "All this fuss over a mere tech. So undignified. It isn't as if you don't have others. This tech will be returned when I am finished extracting the information I need, and not before."

Aeryn waited for Crais to reveal Crichton's true rank and status, but he didn't. The two senior officers continued to bluster, posture, and threaten each other with vague and improbable consequences, pretending to connections and powers that she doubted either of them truly possessed. When they finally cut the transmission, nothing had changed.

Almost immediately, the comms station signaled an incoming transmission from the carrier, directed at her ship. Aeryn counted a slow ten microts before responding, so as not to give the impression that she'd been sitting there listening.

"Officer Sun, stand by to receive new orders," Crais barked, the annoyance in his voice barely lessened from his argument with Scorpius.

"Acknowledged," she replied crisply, automatically setting the comms station to record -- standard procedure to retain a record of received orders.

"Reverse your current course and return to the gammak base. Maximum velocity."

"Aye, sir," she replied. This was the reason she'd taken the risk of eavesdropping -- Captain Crais rarely, if ever, provided even the barest of explanations for his instructions. In this, he was not unusual among Peacekeeper captains, and asking questions was actively discouraged.

"My orders when I arrive, sir?" This was an allowable query.

"You will receive specific instructions prior to arrival. That will be all for now."

Which meant, Aeryn suspected, that the captain hadn't decided what to do yet. "Yes, sir."

Perhaps he still thought he could intimidate Crichton's captor into releasing him, or convince High Command to step in on his behalf. If that were the case, then her presence on the scene would allow for the most immediate retrieval.

But what if he couldn't? Based on the conversation she'd overheard, Scorpius didn't seem easily intimidated. And as for High Command, the chances of them interceding for someone of such low rank and status--and an alien at that--were beyond remote.

Would Crais order her to take preemptive action if his efforts at going through channels were unsuccessful? How badly did he want Crichton back?

With those questions still floating through her mind, Aeryn headed aft to check on the ship's armory and supplies. If she was going to plan a rescue, she needed to know her assets.

* * *

Gilina called that night, once again in the deepest arns of the nightwatch. She was calmer this time, her panic and fear having given way to simple determination.

Aeryn summarized the events of the day, including her course change and anticipated return to the base. The woman on the other end of the comms was silent for a moment, then said, "Will you be wanting to approach undetected?"

"It's possible. Depends on what the captain can arrange. Why?"

"There's a blind spot in the targeting sensors that I programmed in. If you approach on that vector, they'll never see you."

Something about Gilina's phrasing and hesitation triggered a faint suspicion in Aeryn's mind. When she received the vector coordinates, the suspicion blossomed into near certainty. Gilina's 'blind spot' was almost directly opposite her Marauder's current approach, pointing deeper into the Uncharted Territories. She would have to circle around the gas giant the moon was orbiting and approach from behind to make use of it.

She wasn't particularly surprised. Crichton and Gilina's plans to abscond to the Territories dated back to their monens in the damaged Marauder, and only the uprising on Sykar had prevented them from going back then. Commission or no, she knew Crichton was unlikely to be satisfied with a life among her people and was still determined to return to his own. And she knew, as she suspected Crichton knew, that should he one day manage to perfect the wormhole technology while working for Crais, or any Peacekeeper commander, he would instantly become a security risk and would never be allowed to leave.

Gilina's motives were harder for Aeryn to comprehend. She had a life among the Peacekeepers. Aeryn had had her life stolen from her once when she was injured, knew the pain of its loss and the joy she'd felt at being able to return to it whole and healthy. It wasn't a perfect life, but then what in the universe was? She couldn't imagine being willing to simply throw it all away, take her chances out among the lesser races, because of feelings for a single person. No matter how intriguing that person happened to be.

Apparently Crichton's arrest by Scorpius had interrupted another defection attempt by the two of them. Even with what little she knew of their plans, she thought they might have had a good chance of succeeding. But those plans could complicate any retrieval; once she had them safe, she couldn't just let them go. Hopefully she could convince them to wait and hope for another opportunity.

* * *

She arrived back at the gammak base on the morning of the third solar day after Gilina's first frantic signal for help. The blind spot worked perfectly, as she approached unchallenged, and she landed on the roof of the ruined structures that housed the base. The camouflage required to keep the base hidden dictated that no sensors would be located there to detect her.

She tried to ignore the part of her mind that was trying to ask what she thought she was doing acting without orders. She'd informed Crais of her imminent arrival at the base, only to be told to hold position and wait. She'd thought about it, argued with herself, but finally decided to act anyway. She owed Crichton that much, at least. If she succeeded, she figured Crais would probably ignore the insubordination, and if she failed, she'd probably be dead and it wouldn't be an issue.

A small access hatch led to a long stairway that descended into the base levels. It was an arduous climb, but less conspicuous than the level risers.

Trusting Gilina's assurances, she made no attempt to hide, but rather walked openly through the corridors as if she belonged there. As promised, the ident chip and DNA verification systems accepted her presence without a hiccup. The tech had not been idle these past three days.

Moments later, Aeryn stood outside a nondescript door and pressed the signal. She was admitted instantly, with no query or challenge.

The blonde tech was sitting cross-legged on her bunk, staring intently at the holographic display of a portable maintenance diagnostic unit. Thanks to Gilina's past lessons in tech matters, Aeryn knew enough to recognize that the unit was tapped into main control--something that, technically, neither she nor it should have been capable of from these quarters.

"Should you be doing that when anyone could have walked through that door?" Aeryn asked.

Gilina still didn't look up, completely mesmerized by the symbols dancing in the air. "I knew it was you," she replied. "I had the system notify me when you passed through security."

That gave Aeryn a moment's pause. Techs had been in the background of her entire life, largely ignored until these last few monens, but she'd thought she knew what they could and couldn't do. Gilina's casual mastery of everything mechanical was far beyond what she'd considered the norm.

"Have you always been able to do...this sort of thing?" she asked, sitting down on the edge of the bunk.

Now the tech did look up, a conspiratorial smile teasing the corner of her mouth. "As far as anyone else knows, I've never been able to do any of this. I've been careful to hide it. Let's just say that the standard duties and training regimen assigned to the techs were never enough of a challenge. I learned to challenge myself, instead."

"But why keep it secret?"

Gilina just shook her head. "Most techs aren't chosen for their technical aptitude, but rather because they fail to qualify, either physically or psychologically, for training as a soldier. So the vast majority simply don't have the ability or desire to excel. Those of us who _do_ have technical aptitude learn early on that it doesn't pay to stand out from the crowd, and there's really no incentive to be more than adequate.

"We don't get promotions or greater respect for excellence, not like soldiers." There was a touch of bitterness in her voice. At Aeryn's sharp glance, Gilina shrugged. "If we do get noticed, we get assigned to more dangerous or even frelling impossible duties. The price for failure grows higher, too. So most techs just want to stay out of sight. It's safer to be a mediocre nobody than to do too well and get noticed."

Aeryn was silent, absorbing this new insight. The world of the techs, even as intertwined in Peacekeeper culture as they were, was almost as alien to her as Crichton's primitive home world.

Which reminded her.... "How is Crichton doing?"

Gilina's face fell, filling with worry in an instant. "I don't know. They've had him in the chair every day, for arns at a time. The last time I tapped into his cell, he could barely speak. He wouldn't let me tell him anything I was doing, so he wouldn't have to hide it from the chair. He's having a hard enough time blocking me and the...our relationship. We need to get him out of there, Aeryn, before Scorpius loses patience and kills him."

"We need a plan. I have a couple of ideas, but I'll need your help," Aeryn replied.

Gilina looked faintly surprised, but set it aside quickly. There was nothing they could do immediately; Crichton had been taken for another session in the chair before Aeryn landed and even Gilina, impatient for action after three helpless days of waiting, agreed that it would be too risky to attempt a rescue from there. Better to wait until he was returned to his cell.

It would be Aeryn's task to gain access to the cell somehow; for all her skill, even Gilina couldn't subvert that level of security. Once they were out of the cell, Gilina would create a false reactor overload alarm as a diversion, and all three of them could escape in the confusion.

When the two conspirators were finally satisfied with their plans, over an arn had passed and both were hungry. Control showed that Crichton's cell still contained only his Bannik cell mate, so Gilina offered to go get them food for a late mid-meal. It might be their last chance to eat before they needed to act and such opportunities were not to be squandered.

Left alone in the empty tech quarters, Aeryn found herself pacing back and forth like a Setlisk warding cat on a short leash. But even that wasn't helping, so she finally sat down on the bunk and began to field strip and clean her pulse rifle. The rifle didn't really need the attention--she'd performed a full overhaul on all of her weapons just last night--but it kept her hands busy and distracted her from her nerves.

She could perform this task in the dark, in her sleep--hezmana, she could probably do it while recreating if she had to. The mental image that thought triggered brought a brief smile to her face. Each movement, each piece removed and set aside in proper order, had become instinctive by now, after so many cycles of practice. The dance was soothing in its simplicity, quieting to the mind. It was as close as a Peacekeeper ever got to meditation.

The rescue was not what was causing her unease, she knew. From a strictly military, goal-oriented perspective, the plan was amazingly simple and their chances of success were high. After all, the easiest enemy to defeat is one whose weaknesses you know well enough to exploit, and she knew the procedures of the Peacekeepers here at the base as well as they did. What had Aeryn so tense were the potential consequences of this action. If they failed, her fate was certain: death. If they succeeded, however, her career--and her life--could still be forfeit.

It would all depend on Captain Crais, and perhaps a bit on Scorpius himself. If Crais were sufficiently pleased at the safe return of his foundling specialist, he might overlook one of his subordinates acting without orders. But if he took exception to her actions, or if Scorpius chose to make an official protest, Crais might make an example of her instead.

As the last component of the rifle clicked back into place, Aeryn glanced up and realized that Gilina had been gone quite a long time. Too long.

There might be any number of innocuous explanations for the delay, but Aeryn felt a strange shiver of foreboding. Slinging the rifle over her shoulder and casting caution aside, she marched out into the corridors to search.

Upon reaching the rec area that had been Gilina's destination, she saw no sign of her. Aeryn grabbed the first tech to cross her path and snapped, "I'm looking for Tech Renaez. She's been ordered detained for questioning." It was the most plausible excuse Aeryn could come up with on the fly; soldiers did not typically seek out techs for social reasons.

Eyes downcast and posture submissive, the tech stammered, "I'm sorry, Officer, you're too late. The other guards found her here almost a quarter arn ago."

"They took her to Scorpius?" she asked, her mask of stern professionalism slipping in her shock. This was most definitely not the answer she'd been expecting.

"That's what they said, ma'am. They had a bunch of other techs they'd rounded up, too."

As quickly as it had faltered, Aeryn's battle focus returned and redoubled. Her mission was the same, but she now had two targets instead of one, and no one to provide the diversion they'd planned on.

For just a microt, it occurred to her that she could slip away right now, go back to her ship and no one would ever know how she had exceeded her orders. But it was an unworthy thought, ill-befitting her own inner sense of honor, so she cast it aside immediately. She was here and had given her word; she'd see it through and frell the consequences. Given the new situation, it was quite likely she'd die in the attempt, so at least now she wouldn't have to worry so much about her future court-martial and execution.

* * *

Aeryn hurried through the corridors as fast as she thought she could get away with without attracting undue attention. Finding the Aurora chamber hadn't been as difficult as she'd feared. Presuming they'd be near the holding cells for convenience--that was the arrangement they had on the carrier, at least--she simply headed in that direction and then followed the screaming. She could hear Crichton's howls of pain echoing through the hallways even from a great distance. Then, as she approached the last intersection leading to the chamber, the cries faded away and she heard voices.

"...hoped you would be reasonable, Crichton. Perhaps you believe I wasn't serious in my threats, and so you remain obstinate."

The voice was unfamiliar, but the tone was both annoyed and threatening.

"No!" Crichton shouted, hoarse and frantic.

"I think, perhaps, a demonstration of my sincerity might expedite matters."

"Oh, god, please! No!"

Aeryn heard the desperate pleas rise in intensity and tensed, ready to storm the room to prevent whatever was causing such pain. But before she could react, a single shot sounded, followed by a number of panicked, choked-off screams and the muffled thump of a body falling to the floor.

There was a microt of silence, and then...

"'LINA!!!! NO!!!!!!!"

The anguish and pain in Crichton's voice tore through Aeryn's heart. A careful glance around the corner confirmed what she already knew: Gilina was dead, crumpled to the deck in a pool of red blood and blonde hair. A nightmare vision in black was stalking past her body, speaking to someone she couldn't see but knew was Crichton.

"It seems I was correct, then," the Scarran half-breed noted with a hint of sick pleasure. "You do have feelings for these techs. Perhaps now you will be willing to give me what I want?"

He waved a black-gloved hand, and Aeryn heard the Aurora Chair power up. This time there were no screams, not even a whimper. Easing closer to the door, she could finally see Crichton--John--strapped securely into the chair. His face was wet, but his normally animated expression was blank, his eyes dead.

Aeryn felt the rising heat of righteous rage, a nearly irresistible urge to storm that nightmarish chamber and exact revenge. They had killed her...friend? Yes, Gilina had become, in spite of how little they had in common, a good friend. And even more than that; she knew that whatever pain she was experiencing at the loss, Crichton was suffering infinitely more.

Bracing herself against the wall, Aeryn shoved the unwanted emotions aside. There would be time to deal with them later, but now they only served to distract her from the mission. She held her position in the shadows. Gilina was gone, and there was nothing more Aeryn could do for her, except save the man she had cared for. Rushing in there, facing down a room full of armed guards and indulging in a blaze of violent retribution would only get her killed, and it would ill-serve the man who still needed her help.

The Aurora Chair's whine increased in intensity, and she could see the human's body convulse under the assault, but still no sound issued forth, and no emotion touched his face.

"Sir," said a female voice from somewhere behind Crichton, "something is wrong. The blocks were gone, but now the chair cannot even penetrate the most surface levels of his mind."

"Increase to maximum," Scorpius ordered impatiently.

"I am already at maximum power, sir."

"Analysis?"

A pause, as the officer sought an acceptable answer. "Perhaps a fault has occurred in the system, sir. I would need to run a full diagnostic to be sure."

"Very well, see to it. And as for you, Crichton," Scorpius said, turning to his prisoner. It took a moment for Crichton's eyes to even vaguely focus on the person who was speaking to him. "If I were you, I would use this time to consider the consequences of obstinacy. It has already cost you the life of one innocent; how many more are you willing to sacrifice?"

There was no reply from the broken man still strapped into the chair, except for a steady stream of tears rolling down his face.

Scorpius walked out of Aeryn's field of view, saying, "I have just one more item to address, then you can take Crichton back to his cell," she heard him instruct the guards.

Aeryn faded back around the corner and marched towards the cells on level nine, wanting to reach them well ahead of the guards. The original plan, painstakingly worked out with Gilina less than two arns before, was now utterly frelled. But it was all she had to work with, and they were out of time. Crichton wouldn't spend another microt in that chair if she had anything to say about it, so she'd make do with what she had.

The two armored grots arrived about two hundred microts after Aeryn had finished concealing herself, grunting and dragging the semi-conscious human slung between them. As they entered the cell, she moved out of the shadows and approached the open doorway. She arrived just in time to see the guards throw Crichton to the hard floor. Crichton's cell mate, a Bannik Stykera in a metal mask, attempted to catch him and managed to cushion the fall somewhat, much to the annoyance of the guards.

"Dammit, Stark," one of them growled. "We'll teach you to interfere with your betters."

Before they could begin the lesson, though, Aeryn spoke from the doorway in her best 'annoyed senior officer' voice. "I take it you slijnots have nothing better to do than let an inferior alien goad you? For the love of Chilnack, start acting like Peacekeepers! If I'd been an enemy, here to rescue one of these prisoners, you two would both be dead!"

The two grots, who had turned in thoughtless anger at the interruption, sprang to attention at seeing a superior officer, and looked more cowed with every syllable she uttered.

"I am sure you both have duties elsewhere," she continued, voice deepening further into a threatening monotone. "I suggest you go find out what they are and attend to them, before _I_ find out what they are and have them changed to something far more...disagreeable."

The two guards snapped out "Yes, ma'am" simultaneously as they squeezed out of the cell past Aeryn's unmoving form and rushed away.

For several microts Aeryn just stood there and let herself be surprised that that had worked. Neither of the prisoners were looking at her; the Bannik was completely focused on Crichton, and the human, for all that his eyes were open, didn't seem to be seeing anything at all.

"Dead...dead..." mumbled the frenetic alien, his hands hovering over the prone form of his cell mate and moving rapidly across his entire body, never touching him.

Aeryn's heart froze for a moment, fearing the worst, but she could see Crichton breathing and relaxed slightly. Whatever nonsense this madman was spouting, he wasn't referring to the human. Stepping into the cell, she carefully took up a position with her back to the wall camera.

The Bannik looked up suddenly, his single eye boring through her with mad intensity. "Death!" he barked, waving his arms wildly. "All around him, everywhere. _You _did this! Peacekeepers!" The name was a curse in his mouth, almost spat upon the dirt.

"Stark," Aeryn said cautiously, holding her palms out in a placating gesture. "That's your name, isn't it? Stark? I'm here to help him, to get him out of here."

"Wants out," Stark agreed, his single eye glazing over as he looked at something no one else could see. "Wants to follow, follow the other one. His love, his life...still here, won't let them go...."

Aeryn shook her head, impatient with his babbling. "I can get you both out, but we need to snap him out of this. Can you do that?"

The Bannik seemed to pause, as if his insanity had flicked off like a switch. "You...here to rescue him? You're a Peacekeeper. Why? It's not what you do."

"He's a friend, Stark. The woman who died, the one he cared for, she was a friend, too." She could see that none of these words tracked with his ingrained perception of his captors. "He saved my life once," she clarified. _More than once,_ she thought ruefully. "I'm repaying the debt. I can't leave him to Scorpius."

"Scorpy, Scorpy...put him in the chair, the chair...round and round and...."

"Stark!" The madness faded again, leaving painful clarity gazing back at her across the space of the cell. "Can you wake him up, Stark? We can't carry him the whole way; I need him conscious, or this won't work."

"Try...I'll try...."

Stark gazed down into the human's blank face and lifted his mask slightly to release a soft yellow glow.

"Hiding," the Bannik murmured. "Doesn't want to remember. Doesn't want to come out. Doesn't want them to go."

Knowing she risked attracting the attention of the surveillance watchers, Aeryn fell to her knees at Crichton's side. "Crichton," she called softly, setting her hand against his cheek. The light from Stark's mask was warm on her skin. "Gilina asked me to get you out of here. She'd want you to escape, to be free. You have to help me, Crichton. I can't do this without you."

At first there was no response that Aeryn could see. Stark started chanting quietly, whispering long strings of senseless syllables, and the light from beneath his mask intensified. Crichton's blue eyes continued to stare unblinking at nothing for long moments. But then, as Stark's litany faded to silence, those eyes grew wet and tears spilled out of the corners. A blink, then another, and Crichton's whole body suddenly convulsed in a cathartic sob.

Aeryn felt his arms wrap around her in a sudden, desperate embrace, too quickly for her to move away. She let her own hands rest awkwardly on his back for a few microts, trying to give comfort without really knowing how. In spite of her regimented upbringing and cycles of indoctrination against wild emotion, Aeryn wasn't completely unfamiliar with this reaction. It helped to look past his true calendar age and see him instead as the newly-commissioned Peacekeeper that he was, facing his first loss in battle of a beloved comrade.

Many young soldiers within the Peacekeeper ranks--primarily those recruited from colonies, with memories of family connections, but some among the ship-born, too--failed to heed the official injunctions against close emotional ties. They would make close friends, and sometimes, adrift in a sea of adolescent hormones, they would believe themselves in love. But given the dangers inherent in a soldier's life, especially for the young and inexperienced, such youths rarely finished a single cycle of service without experiencing their first catastrophic loss, assuming they survived it themselves.

An emotional breakdown such as this, as long as it occurred out of the heat of battle and didn't endanger lives, would be officially ignored. The derision and harsh ridicule from the soldier's unit would almost always be enough punishment to prevent a recurrence of the error. It wasn't that any of them ever stopped feeling the loss; they simply learned not to show their feelings openly or let them distract from their duty. And the experience usually showed them the wisdom of not letting friends and lovers too close to their heart.

After less than a dozen microts holding the grieving, stricken human, Aeryn gently pulled away. As much as she might sympathize, they truly did not have the time to waste. She ignored the expression of utter shock from the Bannik and placed a hand on either side of Crichton's face, forcing him to look at her. "Crichton!" she called sharply. "Crichton, I need you to focus!"

She could see him start to fight for control. His ragged, shuddering breaths slowed down and evened out, but when his eyes still wandered, unable to focus, she resorted to a stinging slap across the cheek.

It worked, shocking him out of the vicious cycle of grief for the moment. "A-Aeryn?" he stuttered, his voice rough with pain. "You're here...Crais sent you?"

"Not exactly, Crichton. Gilina called me, told me you were in trouble. I'm here without orders; the captain was still trying to negotiate your release, and we were running out of time."

"How...why...?"

"No time for that now, Crichton. We need to get you out of here quickly; the guards in the surveillance booth are probably already getting suspicious about my presence, and I really don't want to have to shoot fellow Peacekeepers getting you out of here."

Crichton took a deep, shuddering breath--Aeryn could almost see him shoving his emotions aside for later so that he could function in the present. "Right," he muttered, making a brief but fruitless effort to get to his feet. After a microt, he collapsed back again, gasping. "Can't...."

"As I expected, after so many days in the Aurora chair," Aeryn reassured him, drawing a small ampoule out of her equipment belt. "There's an option, if you want it," she said carefully, holding the vial up for him to see.

"Wha's it?"

"Combat stim. Break the bulb and inhale; it acts almost instantly. Every Peacekeeper soldier carries one, for times when she needs to keep going in spite of fatigue or injury."

Crichton looked at her then, more clearly than he'd managed up until this point, and apparently saw her hesitation. "Wha's th' catch?" he asked.

"Catch?" Frell, now was not the time for him to be baffling the translator microbes.

"Gotta be a problem wi' it...y're worried."

"It's designed for Sebaceans," she admitted, "and I don't know how you'll react to it. There's no time to test it, and no way to get you out of here without it. The drug might work exactly the way it should, in which case you'll be able to walk on your own. It might have no effect at all." She paused, ignoring that possibility for the moment. "Or it might be poisonous to your species, and in your condition even a mild toxic reaction would probably kill you."

Crichton didn't hesitate. "Give," he demanded, holding out a quivering hand.

"You're sure?" she asked, holding the bulb just out of his grasp.

"Aeryn, 'f it works, great, we're outta here. If it kills me, then at least I'm out of Scorpy's hands. Either one's a better choice than staying here."

Looking in those haunted eyes, Aeryn wasn't sure which outcome Crichton was actually hoping for; it worried her. "And if nothing happens?"

He looked down at his hands. "Then I ask you two favors. Either kill me yourself before you go or leave me a gun--I'm not going back into that Chair again. And take Stark with you, drop him off someplace where he can be free."

"John..." Aeryn began, then paused. A flash of pain had washed across Crichton's face at her use of his given name--a name that only Gilina had really ever used in the past. Then he blinked away the tears and pretended nothing had happened, still waiting for her to finish the thought. In his eyes, now, Aeryn could see that he hadn't lost hope completely. He wanted the drug to work, wanted to escape. He still wanted to live, in spite of his grief and pain, though perhaps he wasn't even consciously aware of it. The threat of dying, either from the drug or at her hands, was simply a risk he was willing take for that chance.

"I promise," she finally said. Without another word, she put the stim vial in his hand.

"What the frell is going on here?"

The new voice, gruff and suspicious, startled Aeryn into a defensive spin and crouch. Standing in the doorway, arms crossed, was the base's security officer. As she'd feared, the surveillance personnel had noted her extended presence in the cell and reported to their superior. She stuffed down the initial impulse to attack and disable the man, and instead drew herself to attention and saluted. "Sir?" she asked, as if confused by the question.

"I'm Lt. Heskon, Chief of Security. What are you doing here without authorization?"

"My apologies, sir. The guards assigned to return this prisoner to his cell failed to handle him with the care Scorpius requested. I dismissed them with a reprimand and was simply assuring that there was no need to summon a med tech."

"And is there?"

"No, sir. I do not believe that any permanent damage was done." For a microt, Aeryn thought she might actually talk her way out of this situation. But then the lieutenant's eyebrows drew together warily.

"I don't recognize you, soldier. Identify yourself."

"Officer Nela Hardek, Ustar Regiment," Aeryn recited, using the false identity Gilina had given her in the base records. "I was recently assigned to the base, sir."

The lieutenant peered at her intensely, his skepticism growing. "I personally check every new arrival through security, Officer Hardek. I don't remember you. You'll have to come with me." He didn't quite draw his pulse pistol, but the threat was strongly implied.

With a mental sigh--she had so hoped to avoid this situation--Aeryn stepped smartly towards the door, saying "Of course, sir," as agreeably as she could manage.

As Heskon stepped back to let her pass, she swiftly drove the butt of her pulse rifle into his gut, followed by a sharp strike to the back of his neck when he bent over in pain and surprise.

After checking the lieutenant's pulse--she was relieved to find she hadn't killed him--she glanced back into the cell. The human and his companion were both staring at her, neither having moved a dench during the drama she'd just played out. Crichton still had the stim dose clutched in his hand.

"Hurry!" she insisted. "Security may sound an alert any microt; we have to move!"

Crichton glanced back down at the vial, likely recalling the three possible effects. The object in his hand might hold either a chance for life or a swift and sudden death. Breathing deeply, he grasped it in two trembling hands and lifted it towards his face. "Remember your promise, Aeryn," he whispered, then broke the vial and inhaled.

Aeryn held her breath, realizing with some surprise that she might actually care more about the outcome of this experiment than Crichton did. She'd come a long distance and run some serious risks to help two people she called 'friend'. Despite her best efforts, she'd lost one of them already, and she hoped she wasn't about to lose the other now.

For a few microts, Crichton showed no reaction whatsoever. Aeryn felt her heart start to sink; the effects of the stims were usually all but instantaneous. Then he convulsed violently, and only the Bannik's quick reflexes saved him from bashing his skull against the stone wall.

"Crap," the human gasped as soon as his body settled down again.

"Crichton?" she asked, worried.

He opened his eyes, and she saw the dilation of his pupils, the characteristic sign of the drug in his system. "I think it worked," he said, his voice sounding stronger already. "Man, that was like getting smashed in the face by a triple espresso wrapped around a gold brick."

Aeryn didn't know what a 'tryp lespraso' was, but she sympathized with his stunned reaction. She hated the stims, with their hyper-stimulation of every nerve and sensory input. They could make you feel invincible, but feelings like that made people careless and got them killed. She'd never actually used one outside of training.

Crichton was already struggling to his feet, though he still had trouble with his balance. Stark helped, supporting him when he staggered.

She reached down and plucked the unconscious lieutenant's pulse pistol out of its holster, then held it out to Crichton. He stared at it for a moment, then looked Aeryn in the eye as if asking if she was sure.

"You're a Peacekeeper now," she pointed out. "It's your right to carry a weapon." Knowing how he'd always felt about weapons and killing in the past, Aeryn expected him to refuse, or show reluctance. But his acceptance of the pistol was swift, and the look in his eye as he examined the weapon almost hungry.

"So, Aeryn," he said as they moved into the corridor. "What's the plan?"

"Plan?" She laughed without humor. "There's no plan. I'm making this up as I go. Come on, we've got to keep moving."

As they raced down the hallway, Crichton was still weaving slightly in spite of the stim. She heard him mutter under his breath, "Great. The Peacekeeper doesn't have a plan. We are so frelling dead."

* * *

With the wailing of alarms and the pounding of many booted feet echoing through the maze of corridors behind her, Aeryn finally ducked through the grate in the floor and into the sub-level crawlspace where Crichton and Stark were already hiding. They waited together in tense silence as dozens of their pursuers raced over their heads, oblivious to their quarry.

"We're frelled," Aeryn whispered when all was quiet again. "They've locked down the whole base, sealed all the access shafts. We'd need a senior officer's ident chip to get through the locks--"

"Which we don't have," Crichton pointed out.

"--and even if we got one," she continued, ignoring the interruption, "Scorpius' people will easily beat us to the surface using the level risers."

"Why do we need to get to the surface?" John wondered distractedly.

In the dim light, Aeryn could see his pupils had almost contracted back to normal. The stims were wearing off, far sooner than she'd expected. While his body reacted to the drugs much as a Sebacean's would, his metabolism obviously burned through it much faster. As the effects faded, so did Crichton's mental clarity; he didn't usually need to have things explained more than once. "The Marauder is there, Crichton," she clarified.

"Why not take the one in the hangar?"

"What?"

With obvious effort, Crichton shook himself and mustered his waning faculties. "Sorry, I forgot, you wouldn't know. Gilina and I...we were...." He faltered, emotions getting the better of him at the mention of the dead woman's name. Finally he just shook his head, wiped a hand across his face, and finished, "There's a Marauder in the hangar bay, prepped and ready to go. We could take that instead."

"Do I want to know?" she asked. Pointless question, really--between the sensor blind spot and now a Marauder, the conclusion was an easy one to draw.

"Probably not."

"All right."

Over the course of the next half arn, the three made slow and unsteady progress towards the hangar bay, dodging searchers and racing against Crichton's inevitable collapse when the stim wore off completely. By the time they arrived, he was being supported more by Stark's arm around him than by his own shaky legs. He'd led them through neglected back corridors to a side access door, a route Aeryn presumed he and Gilina had used before to reach this ship.

The hangar appeared quiet when they arrived, with just a single guard patrolling the huge space. The ship they sought was parked in a darkened corner less than a hundred motras away. Close, but still too much open space to cross without getting spotted by the guard.

"We gonna take him out?" Crichton asked, gripping his new pistol more firmly.

She looked at the human and shook her head. "I'm hoping to avoid that, Crichton. That guard is a loyal Peacekeeper. I'm still a Peacekeeper, too, no matter how this looks, and so are you. I'd like to have a chance of still being a Peacekeeper when this is over, and there's only so much Captain Crais will be able to forgive. Killing a fellow soldier would make that very difficult."

Crichton had the grace to look ashamed. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking."

"The advantage of _being_ a Peacekeeper in this situation," she continued, "is that I know how to exploit the system. You wait here; I'm going to go talk to the guard, try to convince him I have orders to take the Marauder up. When you see I have him distracted, head for the ship quietly, keeping in the shadows. Can you do that?"

"Sure, Aeryn," Crichton assured her, but the shakiness of his voice belied his confidence.

Concerned, she looked to Stark, hoping the staunch support the alien had shown for Crichton would carry them through. The Bannik nodded at her unspoken query, all indications of his prior manic behavior subdued by the first taste of freedom he'd likely had in a very long time.

Aeryn approached the single guard from behind, taking advantage of his lax attention as he believed himself unsupervised. She got within three motras and then cleared her throat. The soldier's startled gasp and flustered scramble to attention was amusing, and she had to repress a smile fiercely to maintain her stern mask.

"I trust the escaped prisoners have not slipped past you while you were daydreaming, soldier," she accused harshly, stalking around him so that he had to turn away from the side access door to keep her in sight.

"N-No, ma'am," he stammered. "There's been no one here since the alert sounded."

"Very well," she said, nodding slowly as if reluctant to accept his assertion. She glimpsed movement in the shadows behind the guard as her charges moved along the wall. "You are fortunate, Crewman, that the prisoners were last spotted heading for the surface and not for the hangar bays. I can overlook this minor dereliction of duty this time, but see that it doesn't happen again."

"Yes, ma'am." The response was quietly grateful, but she knew he'd learn nothing from this encounter. Had she truly been this man's supervisor, the penalty would have been harsher by far.

The shadowy figures in the distance had almost reached the looming Marauder in the corner. "I have orders to take a Marauder, to intercept the prisoners should they happen to reach their own ship in spite of our efforts."

"I received no such orders, ma'am," the guard said uncertainly.

"The commander and Scorpius are rather too busy at the moment to be bothered with minor details," she dissembled, standing straighter and crossing her arms impatiently.

The young man swallowed nervously, but he'd been well trained, notwithstanding his prior laziness. "I'll need to confirm those orders before I can allow you access to any of the ships, ma'am," he said.

She opened her mouth to argue with him, but at that moment a muffled thud sounded from the darkened recesses of the bay, and the guard turned, suddenly alert. Over his shoulder, she could see Stark tugging desperately at Crichton, who was sprawled on the floor unable to rise. It was his stumble and fall that had alerted the guard.

"Stand fast!" the guard shouted, drawing his pulse pistol in a quick, practiced motion. Before Aeryn could react, he had activated his comms. "Escaped prisoners sighted, ha--"

Trusting a fellow Peacekeeper to back him up, the guard had turned his back on her. It was a reasonable assumption, but ultimately his downfall. The impact of Aeryn's pulse pistol against the back of his neck abruptly silenced the call for assistance.

She left him sprawled on the floor--no time to hide the evidence--and hurried back across the bay to Crichton, who was struggling unsuccessfully to get back to his feet. Stark wasn't helping; his previous composure had disappeared, leaving him frozen in place muttering, "He's coming, coming, coming...Scorpy's coming...love the chair..." over and over. Whether this had been the cause of John's collapse or merely a result of it, Aeryn didn't know. And at the moment, she didn't have the time to care.

Without pausing in her trajectory, Aeryn marched up to the manic Stykera and slapped his single exposed cheek so hard that his mask nearly flew off. The deranged babbling ceased. "Either help us or stay behind," she announced to his shocked expression.

Shoving past the stunned alien, Aeryn reached down to help Crichton, who was still unable to get his feet under him.

He tried to shrug her hand away, insisting, "I can do it, damn it!"

Aeryn grabbed his arm a second time, more firmly, and hauled the human upright in a single motion, bracing him against the back wall. He tried to object again, despite the fact that his bleary, bloodshot eyes could barely focus on her.

"We don't have time for false bravado, Crichton," she said, cutting him off. "Someone could arrive in response to the guard's distress call at any time, and it will take me at least a hundred microts just to get the Marauder ready to fly."

Crichton seemed to absorb that, then nodded. Stark, back in a more rational mode, though he still looked twitchy and worried, had reappeared at Crichton's side and resumed his support of the weakened human. "Go," Crichton said to Aeryn. "Get the ship started; we'll get there as fast as Stark here can drag me."

She hesitated, reluctant to abandon John again to the erratic care of the Bannik.

"Go!" Crichton insisted, shoving her weakly towards the waiting ship. The effort nearly overbalanced him, but Stark caught his arm in a steady grip and kept him upright.

Bowing to the logic of Crichton's demand and the urgency of the situation, she simply nodded and turned away, heading for the Marauder to start the pre-flight process.

* * *

John watched as Aeryn Sun disappeared up the Marauder's loading ramp and into the bowels of the ship. Still leaning against the wall, with Stark on one side keeping him from toppling over, he tried to muster whatever wisps of strength he might have left. The energizing effects of the stim were gone, leaving him with only the crushing fatigue and the phantom pain of seared nerve endings left over from three solar days in the Chair, along with a sick, nauseous feeling, apparently withdrawal from the powerful drug. The ramp was only twenty motras away, but to him it looked like the last mile of an uphill marathon.

Stark was starting to mutter again, tugging at his arm with ever-increasing urgency. Glancing up, he could a dark, blurred figure moving around the Marauder's command deck through the shielded viewports, and hear the faint hum of the ship's systems warming up.

"Okay," he muttered to himself. "One foot in front of the other...you can do it." He leaned forward, hanging most of his weight on the arm he'd slung over Stark's shoulder, and swung one foot out. "One step at a time. Tortoise and the hare. Slow and steady wins the race." He and the Bannik were quite a pair, both babbling nonsense that spilled from their half-fried brains.

Breathing heavily, John paused and looked back up at the ship. Fifteen motras. Frell.

The distant sound of pounding feet gave John a burst of adrenaline, possibly the last his body had to offer. Stumbling and lurching, they got within five motras of the ramp before a squad of bubble-helmeted grots filed into the bay and ordered them to halt and surrender.

John pulled Stark around behind him and pointed his stolen pistol right back at them. Surrender was not an option.

"Hold your fire; I want them taken alive," said an oily, all-too-familiar voice. Scorpius sauntered into view behind the crouching guards, wearing a look of feigned disappointment. "John, John, John," he chided. "I cannot allow you to leave, you know that."

"Oh, so sorry, Scorpy," John replied, starting to giggle hysterically. "Don't you know Santa takes away your Christmas presents if you don't take care of them? You don't get to play with my brain anymore, Mr. Scrooge."

Scorpius gestured two guards forward to apprehend his prisoners; John shot each one in the leg in quick succession. Neither wound was fatal, but they wouldn't be getting up anytime soon. The remaining guards tightened their grips on their weapons, but discipline kept them from returning fire without orders.

"You cannot hope to shoot all of them, Crichton," Scorpius said, getting annoyed. "Don't be foolish."

"Maybe I can't," John agreed amiably. "But you can't shoot me, either. I think we've got a good old-fashioned Mexican stand-off here. We're going, Scorpy, one way or the other. You try and stop me, first shot goes through your head." _Second shot goes through mine,_ he thought but didn't say.

Scorpius hesitated, and both parties stood frozen for long microts. As John stared across the hangar bay at the Scarran torturer, his worst nightmare in black leather, the image of Gilina's shocked and terrified face as the pulse shot blasted through her flashed through his mind. Her eyes, once so trusting, had darkened in betrayal in the instant before she fell and bled her life out onto the metal deck. He'd failed her, John knew--her and their unborn child. But Scorpius had pulled the trigger.

The longer they stood there, the more hopeless the situation looked. They weren't going to get out of this; the only options left were surrender or death, and John knew which way he would choose. "Stark," he whispered to the trembling figure behind him, "get to the ship. Tell Aeryn to take off." There was no reply at first, and John held his breath, praying that the Bannik wouldn't decide to get all noble on him. "He stole two cycles from you, Stark," he argued. "You deserve a chance at freedom."

"And you?" Stark's voice replied in his ear, sounding saner than he ever had before.

"I'll get revenge. For both of us." _And for Gilina._

He felt Stark let him go and back away. Locking his knees, John somehow remained standing, holding on to the illusion of strength and the pulse pistol in his hand. He knew he only had microts to spare; already his vision was going gray at the edges, the sound of his heartbeat loud in his ears.

"Let them go, Scorpy," he called out before the guards could move to stop the retreating figure. "I'm the one you really want." There were quick, running steps behind him, clanging up the ramp, and then the mechanical hum as the hatch door folded up and sealed the ship.

"It seems your friends are abandoning you, Crichton," Scorpy gloated.

"At least they're away from you," he croaked back. Behind him, the Marauder's engines roared to life; he felt the blast of air as the thrusters fired, lifting the monstrous vessel into the air. The dozen grots fluttered nervously, backing away slightly. The ship hovered there, like an angel on his shoulder watching over him.

Well, if they wanted to watch the show, he'd gladly oblige. "You took something from me, Scorpius," he called out, though the roar of the engines drowned him out. It wasn't really important that the half-breed hear him, only that he said the words. "The only good thing I had after losing my home. You won't hurt anyone else I love. Not ever again!"

As best he could with blurred eyes and shaking hands, John aimed his pistol at Scorpius and fired.

He missed.

A second shot and a third also went wide, as his hands twitched and trembled beyond his control. He tried two hands on the butt of the pistol, but the shaking only increased. Scorpius was just standing there, making no attempt to retreat or find cover, as if he knew somehow that John could not hit him.

The half-breed made a gesture, and John saw the entire squad move forward en masse to capture him. Scorpy'd been right about one thing--there was now way he could take them all out before they reached and disarmed him. Trying would just be a waste of time, and Scorpy was the only person here he'd wanted to kill today.

He had time for just one thing, now. He would not be taken alive.

Pulling his weapon back, away from the distant target it couldn't seem to find, he turned it back and up, under his chin. This time, he was sure, he wouldn't miss.

There was a loud explosion, pain, and then darkness.

* * *

John drifted, floating in a starless void. There were voices, distant but growing clearer. Along with the sounds, an awareness of the physical, absent for so long, started prompting him with faint signals.

When he felt a cool hand touch his face and heard a feminine voice say his name, he smiled. She had waited for him, as he'd hoped. "'Lina," he murmured, "I'm so sorry...."

"Crichton, wake up."

That wasn't Gilina.

The world came crashing back in with a rush, the weight of his body against the hard mattress, the faint hum of engines in his ears. He was wrapped in a pounding, endless ache, with no way to distinguish where one hurt ended and the next began. And his cerebro-spinal fluid had seemingly turned to acid, a searing liquid flame that burned from the center of his brain out to the tips of his fingers.

For some reason, he couldn't remember why, waking up felt... unexpected. There was no memory of how he'd wound up here; his last clear recollection was Gilina, lying on the ground in a pool of red Sebacean blood.

He shoved the memory away, unable to cope with the knowledge just yet.

"Crichton?" the voice called again. It was familiar....

Straining against the fifty pound weights strapped to his eyelids, he pried his eyes open just a fraction. The lights were low, for which he was grateful, and he could just make out the dark-haired figure leaning over him. "Aeryn," he deduced, voice rasping through the sandpaper lining his throat. "Wha' happ'?"

"What do you remember?"

Enough to wish he couldn't. "Chair," he managed to say. "Scorpy. Shot G'lina."

Aeryn nodded. "I gave you a battle stim so we could escape the gammak base; they can often cause temporary memory loss while the drug is still in your system. It should wear off soon."

"Scorpy?"

"Don't worry, John, we're safe. We got away from the base."

The weight of his eyelids was finally too much. Comforted by Aeryn's presence, and her assurances of safety, he slipped back into the darkness.

When John woke the next time, pain had lessened slightly and his mind was working far better. Their insane flight from his cell to the hangar bay...the arrival of Scorpy and his goons...that last stand before the firing squad that wouldn't fire--he remembered it all, now.

He opened his eyes, far more easily this time, and looked around. A glint of light on metal revealed Stark, standing in the corner of the Marauder's small med-bay, watching over him. "Hey," he croaked out by way of greeting.

Stark didn't reply, just slipped silently out of the room. Less than thirty microts later, Aeryn Sun walked in the door. She had stripped out of the full commando uniform and was wearing a simple black tank top. "You're awake again, good," she said gruffly. "How are you feeling?"

"Thirsty."

She brought water, which he swallowed greedily. It took nearly the whole bottle to dissolve the layers of grit that had lined his mouth and throat. "Thank you," he said when the last drop had been sucked up greedily.

"Has your memory returned?"

"Most of it, I think. Just one question."

"Yes?"

"Why am I not dead? The ship was in the air, the guards were coming for me. Last thing I remember was turning my gun around so they wouldn't take me alive. There was an explosion...I thought I'd shot myself."

Aeryn sat down on the edge of the bay's second bunk. "I wasn't about to let you just die when I'd gone to so much trouble to rescue you, Crichton. I promised Gilina I would get you out. When I saw the guards coming, I used the Marauder's strafing cannons to drive them back. You were standing between the cannons when I fired, and the concussion knocked you out before you could pull the trigger."

John paused to absorb that. "Did you manage to avoid killing anyone?" he asked, remembering how important that had been to her. It would be hard enough for her to explain that she'd acted without orders, but having to justify casualties would make things that much worse.

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "I aimed at the deck, but the shrapnel probably caused injuries. Someone might have died. But it was necessary."

"If I was unconscious, how'd you get me aboard?"

"Special retrieval procedure," the soldier in her answered with pride. "I centered the ship's drop hatch over you and lowered us to less than a motra off the deck. Stark hauled you inside, I sealed us up, and we took off."

John just nodded, unable to formulate a properly grateful response for someone who'd possibly just royally screwed her career f

or him.

A two-toned chime from the ship's speakers brought Aeryn's head up sharply. John recognized the signal--incoming transmission. She left the room quickly, heading back up to the command deck.

John was about to drift off to sleep again when Aeryn returned, her expression bemused.

"What was it?" he asked blearily.

"Orders. From Captain Crais."

"And?"

Aeryn glanced down at John, her mouth breaking into a rare smile, eyes dancing with humor. "I've been ordered to retrieve Crewman John Crichton from Scorpius' gammak base, by whatever means I deem necessary."

John felt a hysterical, irrational giggle bubble up from his chest. It hurt, and there was no humor in it, but he couldn't help laughing. "Do you want me to go back so you can start over?" he asked when he could speak.

Aeryn just looked at him, then rolled her eyes in an all-too-familiar gesture of exasperation.

"Humans," she muttered.

TBC...


	10. Valediction

**Episode 9 - ****Valediction****  
**

_"I keep seeing you die." -- Pa'u Zotoh Zhaan  
_

"What planet is that?"

The quiet voice from behind her nearly startled Aeryn out of her skin. She'd been deeply engrossed in the dual tasks of piloting a stealth trajectory towards the planet and monitoring comms traffic. She hadn't heard the human approach.

Turning her head, she met the bleary, bloodshot eyes, dark circles underneath marring an unshaven face. Hard as it was to believe, she thought he might look worse now than when she'd found him in that cell on the Gammak base.

"There's no name in the files," she replied, turning back to her piloting. "We're still well outside Peacekeeper jurisdictional boundaries. All I could find was a notation indicating the availability of resources."

"So how come we're here?"

As irritating as it was to have him asking questions while she was trying to fly a delicate and precise course, Aeryn took it as a good sign. It was the first indication of interest Crichton had shown in anything since waking aboard the Marauder three solar days before.

"We're here because _someone_ failed to mention that the ship we were stealing was charged to less than one percent of capacity," Aeryn said, "and stocked with just a few solar days' supply of rations." She kept her tone light, having long since recovered from her initial irritation at the oversight. "We didn't have enough fuel to make it back to the carrier. This is one of the few destinations within range where we can acquire more."

"Sorry about that," Crichton replied blandly, still staring at the view screen. "Couldn't siphon too much from the PK gas tanks without getting caught. Took us days to get what we did."

"It's all right," she assured the distracted man. "Heading directly back to the carrier would have been a bad idea anyhow; once Scorpius accessed the logs in my Marauder, he'd have known that Crais sent me. Most of the pursuit will be in that direction."

"Yeah."

The vague, monosyllabic response was far more typical of Crichton's recent behavior. The silence that followed dragged on until Aeryn once again nearly forgot he was there, her attention subsumed by the intricacies of piloting.

Peacekeeper standard stealth trajectory called for an approach to a target along a direct vector from the system's primary star, so the saturation of energy from the sun would mask the ship's signature. It required delicate calculations of planetary movements relative to the star and the necessities of a safe landing approach. Normally, Aeryn wouldn't have bothered, but having someone report a lone Marauder so near to the Gammak Base would be to Scorpius like a trail of blood to a Vorcarian. It was best to keep a zero presence profile.

After a hundred microts or so, a soft murmuring voice once again brought Officer Sun to awareness of her surroundings. Glancing behind her, she could see Crichton still standing in the doorway, arms crossed and leaning against the wall. He was staring at the planet as it grew ever larger on the screen, the sprawling metropolises visible even from space through the few scattered clouds.

"What did you say?" she asked.

"It's as good a place as any," he repeated, only slightly louder than before. Before she could ask for an explanation, Crichton turned and limped away down the corridor.

* * *

Unlike the other two alien worlds John had set foot on in the past year, this one was bright and shiny and clean. Everything he'd once thought an alien civilization should be. The people, however.... Hell, even when they'd been tying him up and sticking a worm in his gut, the Sykarans had been more personable than these bastards.

Lawyers. Everywhere he looked, there were lawyers. And not just that, but _sleazeball_ lawyers, every last one, dressed up in the same cookie-cutter outfits, with black hoods and leather skull caps hiding everything but their smug faces. This place made him think longingly of Shakespeare; killing all the lawyers on this planet would be tantamount to genocide, but it might be worth it.

John sat alone at the farthest end of the bar, drinking something he couldn't pronounce. This was the closest refreshment house to the park where Aeryn had concealed the Marauder; he hadn't felt like wandering too far. Stark was here, too, but he respected John's desire for solitude--perhaps even shared it--and sat a few seats away.

"Crichton, what the frell are you doing?"

He glanced up from his glass as Officer Sun barged through the door, obviously angry. His eyes clouded at the familiar sight, recalling many pleasant evenings he'd spent in the carrier's lounge with her, and Tauvo, and....

John shook his head to dislodge the image, reminding himself firmly that he didn't care anymore. "Wha's th' matter, Ms. Sun?" he slurred.

"Do you recall me saying that I wanted to be off this frelling planet by nightfall?"

"Yep."

"Well?"

"So wha's stoppin' you?"

"I seem to be short one crew member," she explained sarcastically.

"Not goin' with you."

The irate soldier slapped one hand down on the bar and spun him around on the bar stool with the other. Heads turned all through the refreshment house, disdainful eyes glaring at the disturbance, hungry eyes watching anxiously for some violation of the law.

"You're not--? What the frell are you talking about, Crichton? Where the frell else would you go? You certainly can't mean to stay _here_!"

"I'll find someplace. I can't go back there, Aeryn."

The Sebacean woman seemed to sense at last that this wasn't simply drunken stubbornness arguing with her. "Crichton," she tried to argue, "You're a Peacekeeper officer. You took the oath."

"To hell with your 'oath'," he replied bitterly.

"So your word means nothing to you? And what am I supposed to do? I've been ordered to retrieve you. What am I supposed to tell Captain Crais?"

He sighed. "Do whatever you want, Aeryn. Stay here, go back, tell them I'm dead, tell them I ran away with the circus--I really don't give a shit."

"And if I decide to place you under arrest for attempted desertion and haul you back anyway?"

John's head snapped up, a shot of fight-or-flight adrenaline bringing with it a semblance of sobriety. He set his feet on the ground and tensed, ready to jump up if she made a move. "I don't want to fight you, Aeryn."

The woman had the temerity to laugh in his face, a harsh, bitter sound with no humor in it. "If I truly intended to capture you, Crichton, you're drunker than you look if you really think you could prevent me."

John relaxed a little at the word 'if', letting the insult float past without note. "You saying you _don't_ intend to?"

Aeryn's eyes raked over his figure with contempt, and John was keenly aware of what she was seeing. The accommodations on the Gammak base cell levels had been a bit light on the amenities, and the stolen Marauder hadn't been much better. There'd been no spare clothing, and with three people subsisting on a ship stocked for two, there'd been no water to spare for personal hygiene. He still wore the clothes he'd been captured in, and they were wrinkled and sweat-stained from days of imprisonment, torture and the aftermath. His face bore at least a week's growth of stubble. And while the alcohol in his system was numbing his nose, he knew he probably reeked of stale sweat, booze and fear like a skid row wino.

"You're a disgrace to that uniform," she sneered. "Pathetic and useless like all lesser species. Stay here and rot for all I care!" She stormed away without another word, sending the doors crashing into the outer walls in her rush to be elsewhere. John watched them swing shut behind her, then turned back to order a fresh drink.

* * *

_That frelling...frellnik!_ Aeryn seethed with fury as she stormed down the busy evening streets, her stomach roiling with a hundred new and conflicting emotions. _After everything I did for him, everything I've risked, he throws it in my face._

Aeryn balled her hands into fists, glaring around at the self-absorbed citizens rushing past her. She wanted to hit something, pound some hapless victim into the ground. A cycle ago, she might even have done it.

No one in her entire life--no enemy on the battlefield, nor cruel superior officer nor any of the older cadets who had tormented her as an adolescent for being small--had ever provoked her to this degree. What was it about this alien man that could inspire such protective impulses one microt and drive her to dangerous levels of rage the next? Everything she'd done in the past weeken--Hezmana, many of her thoughts and activities for the past half cycle, ever since their fateful visit to the _Zelbinion_--went completely against her Peacekeeper indoctrination.

And the truly strange thing? Even in the heat of her anger, she didn't regret any of it.

She arrived at an intersection where a mechanical voice prattled on, instructing pedestrians to wait. There was no traffic at present, and Aeryn was too angry to want to take orders from a mere machine. She stepped into the road, ignoring the flashing blue light and the stern instructions from the traffic control computer.

After that, everything happened too quickly. Alarms sounded, and voices from behind her shouted, "Halt! Don't move!" A large hand grabbed Aeryn by the arm. Instinct took over, and she twisted around and slammed a fist into her assailant. The man fell to the ground. Other figures surrounded her, reaching to subdue her, and she let loose with every henta of her pent-up aggression, sending bodies flying on every side. With every blow, she pictured the human's face, taking out her anger and frustration on these strangers who had ambushed her.

In the end, however, there were too many of them, and they were armed with shock sticks. She emerged from the haze of pain and rage wondering what the frell had happened. Her body was pinned to the ground while her assailants roughly snapped restraints around her wrists. It took a microt to realize that her captors were police officers; apparently they'd been trying to arrest her for something minor, and she'd just pounded her way into much deeper trouble.

As they dragged her away, she glanced back at the unconscious bodies still littering the battleground. A small part of her, one that wasn't preoccupied with worry about her situation, viewed the scene with satisfaction.

She might be in serious dren but, for the love of Chilnak, that had felt good.

* * *

It was the music, if you could call it that; that was what was driving him nuts. It was too bouncy, too syncopated, like a jazz pianist on a caffeine high playing a poorly tuned instrument. It was getting on his nerves. If he'd been a little less drunk, he might have walked out and found a quieter place; a little less sober, and he might have pulled out the pulse pistol he'd strapped to his thigh and filled the jukebox full of little yellow bolts of light. That is, if he could figure out what a jukebox looked like on this planet, or if there even was one.

John sat nearly motionless, gazing into the half-empty glass on the bar in front of him. He hadn't slept well in what felt like weeks. Images of blood and death haunted him both waking and sleeping, vying with memories of torture and pain for air time in his nightmares.

He rubbed a hand across his face, wiping away the tears he wanted no one else to see. Showing weakness was dangerous.

A shadow fell across the bar in front of him, and he turned warily to look.

"Would you like...company?" Stark asked, his voice as tentative as his half-hunched posture.

John thought about refusing, but he owed his fellow prisoner a bit of courtesy. "Sure," he said with false cheer. "Pull up a barstool."

"I sense that you are...troubled," Stark began as he perched on the nearest seat.

John had to chortle a bit at that major understatement. "Gee, ya think?" he muttered. Gesturing to the barkeep, he ordered a fresh drink for himself and one for Stark.

"I overheard you talking to the Peacekeeper woman," Stark admitted after the drinks were served. "You're not going back with her?"

"Nope." John's answer was soft, and carefully noncommittal. He took a small sip from his glass.

Instead of questioning further, Stark waited, his silence more eloquent and persuasive than any words.

"I can't go back," John finally said, as if that clarified matters.

"Why not?"

John paused, letting the silence drag on. It was a question he'd not really asked himself; he just knew he couldn't face being back on that monster ship. Alone. "Well," he said, looking for an excuse to avoid too much introspection, "like Aeryn said, Scorpy's gonna be looking for me and the carrier's the first place he'll look."

"You think you'll be safer out here?"

He shrugged. "Sure. Space is a big place; how's he gonna find me?"

"He won't have to find you, Crichton," Stark informed him, bleak eyes shifting back and forth as if looking for danger. "He'll post wanted beacons, offering a reward for your capture; bounty hunters will find you for him."

John slashed his hand through the air in a drunken wave, feigning unconcern. "So I'll keep moving, stay hidden. At least I won't have to put up with all those Peacekeeper superior attitudes anymore, having folks look at me like I'm a bug or something just because I'm not Sebacean."

Stark nodded sagely. "This is true. You will now be feared and despised because people assume you _are_ Sebacean. The Peacekeepers do not have a monopoly on prejudice, Crichton, and they are hated on many worlds."

"What's with you, Stark? Don't you hate them for what they did to you? It sounds like you're trying to talk me into going back to them."

The Bannik shook his head, and his voice acquired a depth and gravity not previously present. "I do not hate the Peacekeepers, Crichton. They're no worse than many other powers in the universe, and better than some. You have lived among them. You have seen that they are not all alike."

John thought of Aeryn, of Tauvo. Of Gilina.

"It was not the _Peacekeepers_ who tortured me," Stark explained. "It was Scorpius. He is half Sebacean, half Scarran, and he inherited the worst traits of both races."

John thought about that, and decided Stark had a point. Most of the Peacekeepers he'd encountered in the past year--cycle--had been callous and contemptuous, even hostile towards the inferior alien in their midst. But there were a few who had been willing to look past his heritage and see him as a person, people he had learned to respect and who had in turn learned to respect him. As angry and traumatized as he was by what Scorpius had done, he knew he couldn't in good conscience blame the entire Peacekeeper organization for the obsession and cruelty of one mad scientist.

"Is this because of the woman who died?" Stark asked suddenly.

John gave him a sharp look. "Aeryn told you about her?"

"No, no, no, she said nothing to me," Stark said, his manner veering towards the manic babble John had grown familiar with.

"Then how the hell did you know? You never saw her; you weren't even in the cell either of the times she contacted me."

Stark's hands fluttered nervously on the bar. "I am Stykera."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Among my people, the Stykera are gifted with special sensitivity. We are attuned to the dying; we ease their suffering, help them make the journey."

"So, what, you felt her...felt her die? Is that it?"

"Somewhat. But when you were brought back to the cell, after, I sensed her spirit. She was caught between, clinging to you as you were to her. This is common when a loved one dies; at first, neither one wants to let go. Eventually, though, one or the other accepts the loss and the spirit is freed." Stark wet his lips and glanced around the bar, as if fearful of being overheard.

"This woman, her spirit was being drawn towards the other side, while your body lived and anchored you here. But you were so weakened from the chair and the shock, your tie to this life was weak. She was pulling you with her; left alone, you might have remained lost between until your body gave up the struggle to hold you. Officer Sun asked me to help rouse you for the escape, so I intervened."

"'Intervened'? How?"

"I severed the bond, and helped the woman cross over. Once freed, your spirit returned to this world."

John didn't know whether to thank the man for helping Gilina, or curse him for his interference. Hell, he didn't know if he even believed in this crap.

"So is it because of her that you are staying behind?" Stark asked again.

"What? No, of course not," John insisted lamely, knowing it was a lie. If only he hadn't been so stubborn, hadn't begged for just one more day to look at the wormhole equations, he and Gilina would have gotten away and might be sitting here together now. This was all his fault. He'd killed her, killed their child, and for what? A chance to look at some stupid formulas that turned out to be completely wrong.

Stark's voice found that deep and persuasive register again as he looked John straight in the eye. "This is a decision that will shape your future, Crichton. In such cases, the easy path very rarely leads you where you want to go. Be sure you are acting from a true desire, and not out of fear of the alternative." With that, Stark rose from his seat and vanished out the door into the darkness.

It took a moment for the departure to register through the alcoholic haze surrounding John's senses. "See ya," he called quietly to the empty doorway, then turned and laid his head down, cushioned by his folded arms on the bar. He was so tired; all he needed was a moment to rest his eyes.

Under the influence of both the alcohol and the hum of conversation around him, Crichton drifted into a state of semi-consciousness, the rise and fall of sound lulling him like ocean waves.

An electronic beeping roused him partially, and John realized that at some point while he'd been out of it another patron had taken Stark's seat. Still lethargic, he didn't move or even open his eyes.

"Have you found anyone?" came a deep, tinny voice, probably from a comms. That must have been the beeping, like a ringing phone.

"Nothing yet," replied the woman seated next to him. "I warned you that it might take many days to find the right candidate. So far, the only off-worlder I've found is passed out at the bar; he's of no use."

John realized she was talking about him, and resolved to stay still. The last thing he needed was some strange lawyer deciding he could be 'useful'.

The man on the comms replied. "We may be in luck; an off-worlder was arrested tonight, on a traffic violation. She attacked the enforcers and injured several before she was subdued."

The woman sounded put out. "Very well, Rhumann. I will investigate this off-worlder. Perhaps she will be the one we seek."

Another electronic chirp ended the conversation, and John heard a rustle as the woman rose to her feet and departed.

_Off-worlder...attacked the enforcers...she...._

Was Officer Sun the alien they had arrested?

It was nearly midnight before John managed to drag himself and his hangover out to the park where they'd stashed the Marauder. He was dismayed to see it still crouched among the trees, just as they'd left it. That alone told him it had been Aeryn who'd been arrested. She and it should have been long gone by now.

He stood there for a little while, gazing at the silent ship. The design had always reminded him of a huge bug, but tonight it looked almost alive in the strange shadows cast by the two gibbous moons. It whispered to him, of freedom and safety. They were light years from the Gammak base, but John could still feel Scorpius' breath on his neck. He needed to get far away, someplace the half-breed would never find him, and this ship could take him there.

He'd have preferred the _Farscape_, but she was still sitting in a hangar bay on the command carrier. The Marauder, though, had several advantages. He knew how to fly it, for one, which could not be said for any other type of vessel in this part of the universe. It was armed, which might come in handy. And it was fueled and stocked for a long journey, thanks to Officer Sun's hard work.

_And Aeryn?_ wondered a small voice in the back of his mind.

She'd be fine, he argued back. From what he'd overheard, they'd arrested her for the Litigaran equivalent of jaywalking. She'd get a fine, maybe a day or two in jail tops, then she'd call for help and get picked up by a passing Peacekeeper ship in no time flat. And best of all, she could tell the truth when they questioned her, that the frelling human had stolen her ship while she was incapacitated. She wouldn't have to lie for him.

* * *

By the time she reached the police station, Aeryn had broken free of her captors twice, only to be jabbed into submission by the shock sticks each time. According to her public counselor, she'd racked up more than a dozen counts of assault against police officers on her list of charges.

The counselor had refused to speculate on her likely sentence, but she had the distinct impression that, unless she managed to do something soon, she might be trapped on this world for a very long time. Her career would be ruined, assuming she ever made it back to duty at all. She'd be lucky not to be judged irrevocably contaminated.

Pacing back and forth in her cell, Aeryn stared out into the empty midnight shadows of the corridor, hearing nothing but the echoes of her own measured footsteps. She contemplated just how far to Hezmana this day had gone. A brief stopover to purchase supplies--that was all it was supposed to be. But first a man she'd grown to like and respect, a man she'd just taken great risks to liberate, had chosen to abandon her and the security of the Peacekeepers for a life as a hunted fugitive, alone. And now she was a prisoner of a retrograde society made up almost entirely of lawyers.

The translation of that word--lawyer--had been an archaic concept she only recognized from some of the most ancient Sebacean texts that had been part of her training. It was a specialty that had long since fallen out of use among the Peacekeepers, and one, as far as she could see from this world, that they were better off without.

She was exhausted, both mentally and physically, not to mention sore from the repeated applications of the shock sticks. She knew she should sleep; she might need every edge she could get tomorrow. Her feet, however, refused to cease their endless oscillations across the small, high-tech cage. Plans and tactics swirled through her mind, training and doctrine on capture, escape and evasion of pursuit.

The worst of it was not the capture or the confinement. Aeryn had been a prisoner of one sort or another five times now in the past cycle, so this was not a new experience. But this time was different. This time, she was alone.

Alone. It was a frightening word, a terrifying concept, for one who had never truly experienced it before. Even aboard the Marauder on her way back to the carrier, when she'd been the only person aboard, she had still been in the carrier's sphere of influence, her location and situation known through daily status reports. If she'd gotten in trouble then, the response would have been swift and deadly. But no one knew she was here; no one would be coming to her aid. Even John Crichton, her companion or rescuer in all of her previous incarcerations, was likely still getting dren-faced in a refreshment house out in the city. He had no idea Aeryn was in trouble. Nor, she thought bleakly, did it seem that he would care. He'd made his position quite clear on that point earlier.

Someone cleared their throat nearby, startling Aeryn to a stop. She turned to find a woman standing outside the cell, and silently cursed herself for getting so caught up in her own thoughts that this tralk had been able to sneak up on her.

"Rough night?" the woman asked, her voice oily and condescending.

Aeryn said nothing, just glared at her through the heavy metal bars.

The woman held up an object in her hand; in the low light, Aeryn couldn't distinguish what it was. "You want to escape?" the stranger asked. "This is your chance." With that, she pointed the device in her hands at the center bar and the metal gradually melted away, leaving a space more than wide enough for a person to squeeze through.

Aeryn narrowed her eyes suspiciously. She could smell a trap being laid for her; total strangers did not walk into police stations and release prisoners without some ulterior motive.

The woman tucked the device away and pulled out a sheet of flimsy paper. "This will show you how to get out of the building; what you do after that is your affair."

Aeryn stood unmoving for a few microts. She could ask why, but if it was a trap, the stranger would only lie to her anyway. So questions were pointless. She stepped cautiously towards the opening and looked both ways down the corridor.

"I would hurry if I were you," the woman said impatiently. "The guards will be back at their posts any microt. There won't be a second chance to escape."

Stepping through the opening, Aeryn reached a hand out for the paper. As the woman handed it over, Aeryn turned and delivered a swift Pantak jab. She quickly examined the very specific route laid out like a map, then dropped the paper onto the floor next to the unconscious body. It was probably poor thanks for someone apparently doing her a favor, but Aeryn wasn't about to leave anyone at her back who could either spring the trap or have a change of heart and notify the authorities.

Like a shadow, silent and swift, Aeryn moved through the corridors. She'd memorized the woman's map with the intention of avoiding the designated route, but every other exit was blocked. Resigned to the risky path, she approached each corner and alcove with the stealth of a Black Ghost behind enemy lines.

It was still dark outside when she finally reached the alley. Somewhere out of sight, the planet's moons still shone, bathing the scene in a dim, diffuse light reflecting off the surrounding buildings. Aeryn, crouched low against the wall, listened and watched for nearly thirty microts; the alley seemed deserted, and beneath the roar of the city traffic, she could hear nothing suspicious. Still, she kept herself alert for any noise that seemed out of place, then moved carefully, staying close to the wall.

A shadow on the ground several motras away made her pause and crouch low. It was shaped like a man, but the stillness spoke of death. Bodies in alleys were common occurrences on some of the worlds she'd experienced over the cycles, but to find one here, now, was pushing the boundaries of coincidence. It smelled like bait, but she still could not see the trap.

She could, however, feel the pressure of time; the longer she waited, the more likely it was her escape would be noted and alarms would sound. Moving forward was a risk, but so was staying still, and at least moving would get her closer to her Marauder and escape with every step.

Cautiously, with her nerves strung tight, watching every corner and shadow for threats, Aeryn moved down the alley, staying as far from the body as she could.

She sensed them a microt before they struck--a rustle of fabric, an indrawn breath, perhaps a flicker of motion out of the corner of her eye. She whirled, putting her back up against the wall.

The first policeman in the group rushed at her, weapon held ready and charged to full. A voice from behind him shouted "Stand where you are!" but she paid it no mind. Knocking the weapon aside and grabbing the man's arm, she used the leverage to place a devastating kick to one knee. As he began to fall, she grabbed his head and slammed it into the wall beside them. He collapsed in a heap of quivering agony, and with a quick twist Aeryn was armed with her very own shock stick.

Two more uniforms were approaching her from either side, while another, slightly slower, came at her head-on. A kick and a pantak jab dispatched the two flankers, then she spun and jammed the shock stick into the third.

There was a crackle and spark as the weapon discharged, but the officer didn't fall. Didn't even twitch.

_Frell.  
_  
The failure distracted her attention, and a blow to the head was her reward. It sent Aeryn spinning to the ground, but she rolled quickly to her feet and tried to shake off the ringing in her ears. Two pairs of meaty hands grabbed her arms in iron grips. She lifted her legs off the ground and tried to allow her body weight to jerk her arms free, but at that moment a shock stick rammed into her abdomen. As the charge ran through her body, her legs dissolved into twitching spasms and she sagged towards the ground, supported only by the officers holding her.

She should have realized the cops might have some defense against their own weapons, to ensure that they couldn't be used against them. Their uniforms must be insulated against the electric charges, which explained why the two holding her hadn't been affected by the shock that had taken her down. Stupid, stupid oversight.

An older man appeared before her as her vision returned, gazing down at her with a mix of satisfaction and disgust. "You're under arrest, alien," he informed her. "For mur--"

A roar of sound drowned the man out, and then bright, blinding light filled the alley, making everyone wince and blink at the glare. A booming voice followed through a loudspeaker. "Let. Her. Go." The voice was harsh and clipped, unrecognizable.

As her eyes adjusted, Aeryn could just make out the silhouette of a ship hovering just above the ground at the end of the alley. It swayed and dipped every few microts, as if the pilot couldn't quite hold it steady.

The officer who had been speaking to Aeryn tried to put on a brave front, but Aeryn could tell it was an effort. He called out towards the ship, "I am an officer of Litigara's enforcement division. It is my duty to hold this alien for trial."

The amplified voice from the ship chuckled, and Aeryn finally identified it. "Goody for you, Roscoe," Crichton said sarcastically. "I'm a Peacekeeper Marauder with a big fricking gun pointed right at your head. I suggest you let the woman go before I get annoyed."

There was a long silence, but Aeryn never found out if the cop would have given in. She took advantage of her guards' preoccupation; with a violent heave, she pulled away from the two still holding her and ran for the Marauder. There were shouts behind her and feet pounding in pursuit, but as Aeryn ducked under the hull, making for the open drop hatch, she heard the ship's weapons fire. Glancing back, she saw that the shots had only struck the ground, harming no one, but had brought the cops to a sudden and paralyzed stop.

Aeryn turned away and leaped into the ship.

* * *

John sat quietly, watching the starfield darken from indigo to black on the viewscreen as he pushed the Marauder up out of the atmosphere. His eyes itched and a quiet pounding had begun to reverberate behind his eyes, but he kept his hands as steady as he could on the controls.

The soft tread of a boot out in the corridor betrayed Aeryn's quiet approach, but John didn't turn or speak.

"What's our status?" she asked, coming up to stand just behind his right shoulder.

"We've left the planet's atmosphere, no sign of pursuit. I haven't set a course, since I have no clue where we are or where we're going. And I regret to inform you that your pilot is currently flying under the influence."

He heard a touch of humor in her voice as she replied, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Then perhaps my pilot should remove himself from duty and get cleaned up."

"Aye-aye, sir," he quipped with a jaunty sailor's salute as he stumbled away from the helm. With every step towards the door, however, his jocular mood faded and the former pensiveness returned. His pace slowed, and finally, at the door, he stopped and put a hand against the wall. "Aeryn?" he called back. He didn't turn, didn't look at her, just kept gazing out into the dark, cramped hallway. He didn't know quite what to say, after the harsh words he'd spoken back in the bar.

"By the way, Crichton," she asked, "how did you know I needed rescuing?"

He almost laughed. Trust Officer Aeryn Sun not to frell around with the emotional dren. "I overheard something about an alien under arrest while I was at the bar. Some guy by the name of Roman or something, talking about how this alien might be 'useful' to him. I came to the Marauder to check, and figured it was you when I found it still parked there."

"I'm surprised you didn't take off without me; it would have been the perfect solution for you."

John gazed shamefacedly down at his feet. "Have to admit I thought about it. Even got about halfway through powering this baby up for liftoff."

"What changed your mind?"

"My parents left me with a legacy that can be damned inconvenient at times. Morals and scruples. A conscience. I just couldn't leave you in the lurch.

"I used the surveillance equipment on this bird to scan for news about you, transmissions and such. You guys have some spiffy stuff that the CIA would kill for. With a little work and a lot of luck, I managed to hook into this Roman's personal comm signal, and heard him giving final instructions to set you up. He'd killed some guy and needed you to take the fall for it. I tracked your location through the comms he was transmitting to."

"Good work," was her clipped, professional response. He almost turned and walked away, then remembered the subject he'd been about to broach when she interrupted him.

"Aeryn, I...I'm sorry about what I said, back at the bar. I don't want you to think I'm not grateful to you, for getting me off that base. I guess...the truth is, I was scared. Still am." He glanced over his shoulder at the silence that followed.

Aeryn was half turned towards the door, watching him with a steady gaze and an expression he couldn't quite interpret on her face. It wasn't judgmental, which surprised him; he'd expected that confession to be met with open derision from the Peacekeeper hard-line.

After a pause, Aeryn turned all the way around to face him. "Captain Crais will be able to protect you from Scorpius," she tried to assure him.

The mention of the half-breed's name evoked a shudder, and John felt compelled to ask the question that had been plaguing his mind since he first laid eyes on the creature. "Why the hell is there a Scarran in the Peacekeepers, Aeryn? I thought the Scarrans were public enemy number one."

Her mouth quirked up on one side and she replied, "I imagine for the same reason there's an inferior human in the Peacekeepers."

He winced. "Touché."

"Scorpius must have done or offered something that High Command deemed sufficient to waive the purity regulations. And he is half Sebacean, remember."

"Could've fooled me," John muttered under his breath.

"Scorpius has a lot of power, Crichton, but a captain has absolute authority on his own ship. On the carrier, Crais could keep Scorpius away from you indefinitely. Only High Command could countermand him."

John ducked his head, looking away from her. "I know that. It's not really Scorpius that scares me."

There was a doubtful snort from behind him, and he turned to give the woman a mock glare. "All right, then, it's not _just_ Scorpy."

"Then what is it?"

He clenched his eyes shut and forced himself to speak the name he hadn't uttered aloud more than once or twice since her death. "Gilina."

Aeryn's eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. "John," she said tentatively. "She's dead."

"That's the point."

"I don't understand."

John sighed. "I wouldn't expect you to." He felt tears welling up and turned away, staring back into the corridor as his vision blurred. "I loved her, Aeryn. I loved her and I loved the child she was carrying. Our child." He heard a soft indrawn breath of surprise, but continued on. "They're both gone and it's my fault and I don't want to go back and face her friends...work in that lab...without her there. It hurts so much already. Facing all those memories...that's what scares me."

Aeryn's response, a dozen or more microts later, was quiet and surprising. "If you'd really rather be alone than with friends, I'll find a place to drop you off. Someplace better than that drenhole we just blasted out of."

_Rather be alone...._

John's mind was whirled back almost five years, recalling a cloudy, blustery day when he'd sat on the dock at Sawyer's Mill with the entire contents of his liquor cabinet lined up next to him, getting drunk in alphabetical order.

_He'd run away after the service, unable to look his father or his sisters in the eye, afraid to see the accusations he knew would be lurking there._

_The ringing ta-tap, ta-tap of a woman's high-heeled steps on the wooden planks had announced a visitor._

_"Go 'way, Livvy," he'd mumbled, somehow knowing it would be her. Though four years his junior, she'd always known him better than anyone else in the family. She ignored his words and sat down on the edge of the dock next to him. They made an odd picture, the two of them: a man in a dark suit and a woman in a black dress, sitting by a lake with their dress shoes dangling inches above the water, bottles and cans scattered around them._

_"Will you come home?" she'd asked simply._

_John had taken a last swig of the bourbon--he'd long since finished the beer--and moved on to the letter G for gin. "Can't."_

_"Can you tell me why?"_

_"Y'know why."_

_"Explain it to me," she insisted._

_"I let her down."_

_"Who? Mom? This is because of that last night in the hospital? The night she--"_

_"Yeah."_

_"You loved her, Johnny. We all understand that. She understood, too. You didn't let her down. Let me take you home."_

_He just shook his head mutely._

_"Is it really easier sitting out here all alone, with no one to talk to, no one who understands what you're feeling? We're a family, John. We need to be together, help each other through this."  
_  
She'd been right, of course. Livvy Crichton usually was. His grief had festered in solitude, and the memories he had tried to avoid still plagued him to this day.

Turning around, heedless of the tears on his face, he saw that Aeryn was once again consumed with her piloting, probably trying to find a place to leave him, because she thought that was what he wanted. He looked at her, and remembered the good times they'd had, the four of them together in the lounge, talking combat and science and football, turning the established Peacekeeper social order on its head every time they laughed together. Suddenly, the thought of never seeing any of them again hit him like a blast of cold water.

He'd lost his lover, and his child. Leaving wouldn't change that, but it would cost him the only other friends he had on this side of the universe. Facing his fears, as Stark had tried to tell him, might be the only way to avoid repeating the mistakes of the past.

"Aeryn," he said suddenly, decisively. "Don't. I'd like to come back with you, if that's okay."

She turned around. Seeing his damp cheeks, she showed no reaction. "Why the sudden change?"

"You were right. It seems that women on both sides of the universe are always smarter than me. I can't control what Scorpius will or won't do; either choice is a risk. But all else being equal, I'd rather be with friends than be alone. Thanks for reminding me of that."

With that, he turned and headed aft for a long overdue shower.

TBC...


	11. An Offer You Can't Refuse, part 1

**Episode 10 - An Offer You Can't Refuse, part 1**

_"Trust them to send me back-up and not tell me.... " -- Jenavian Chatto_

Aeryn could hear Senior Officer Aqida somewhere in the background, requesting permission to dock and calling for med techs to meet them. Carefully guiding the Marauder through the traffic around the command carrier, following the landing beacons, she slipped them into the main hangar bay. Once inside, she compensated as well as she could for the damaged treblin-side thruster and set the ship on the deck gently, with just a slight wobble before all three points touched down. Aeryn heaved a silent sigh of relief and immediately started procedures for a full shutdown.

"Good work, Sun." Aqida's brisk words rose over the engine sounds dying away to silence.

"Sir," she acknowledged noncommittally.

"When you finish here, go have the med techs take a look at your arm."

Aeryn turned to protest, but her superior silenced her with a raised finger. "That's an order, Officer," he instructed. "I need my crew in top condition; foolish pride wins us no battles."

"Aye, sir," she consented reluctantly. There was really no need, as far as she was concerned. It was barely a scratch.

By the time she'd finished powering all of the ship's systems down and let her gear bag fall from the drop hatch, Aqida and Sub-officer Leyn, her two remaining uninjured team members, had long since departed for their quarters.

She jumped down to the deck and grabbed her bag. Ducking under the bow of the ship, she straightened up and nearly flinched, finding herself suddenly nose to nose with a familiar face.

"Tau-- I mean Lt. Crais," she greeted, modifying her address in mid-sentence due to the public setting. "What are you doing here?"

Crais allowed himself a small smile. "We picked up your approach on our scans just as I was getting off-duty, Officer Sun. I decided to come down and welcome you back aboard. I take it the mission was a success?"

"Yes, sir," she replied proudly. This had been her first 'real' assignment since joining the Marauder squadrons, her past cycle having been spent primarily in intensive training and simple transport errands that went horribly awry. Her tales of those frelled-up missions--heavily edited, of course--had amused her compatriots to no end during the journey they'd just completed. They'd all bemoaned that their probationary assignments hadn't been half as interesting.

She and Crais started walking slowly, circling the Marauder as Aeryn completed her final exterior inspection of the craft. "Anything interesting happen while we were away?" she asked, craning her neck to view the damaged thruster. _Careless flying there, Sun_, she berated herself, noting how close the enemy fighter's shot had come to rupturing the cesium lines.

"No," Crais responded petulantly. "Nothing interesting _ever_ happens out here in the far reaches. I hope we get a rotation to a patrol with some action soon; everyone is getting tired of nothing but training and drills."

Aeryn finished her circuit, noting a few more minor damages, then turned to Crais. "And...how is Crichton?" Tauvo had agreed to keep an eye on the human for her; he had them both concerned.

"No better," Tauvo sighed, shaking his head.

Aeryn nodded.

Tauvo shrugged helplessly. "I assume the Aurora chair did some lasting damage, but he refuses to submit to a medical scan without a direct order. And so far he's done nothing to warrant that. In any other soldier, his behavior wouldn't even be noteworthy, but for Crichton...."

"Silence and solitude just aren't normal," Aeryn finished the thought with a nod. She suspected the chair actually had relatively little to do with it; John's wounds were more emotional than physical.

It had been almost a quarter cycle now since they'd returned from the gammak base. She had seen _some_ improvement since those first days, at least; he'd stopped getting into drunken brawls, for one thing, and now spent most of his time working, alone in his tiny lab.

Aeryn was pretty sure she was the only one who had learned the full extent of Crichton's prior relationship with Gilina Renaez, especially the part about the child. As far as she knew, John had told no one else that secret--not even Tauvo, with whom he otherwise seemed to share almost everything. Aeryn wasn't even entirely sure John remembered telling _her_.

Vaguely, distantly, Aeryn thought she understood a little of what Crichton was going through. She'd had a mother once, after all, for an arn or so one night in the cadet barracks. She'd spent her whole life since feeling slightly incomplete, always half-searching for something that was missing, looking for that one face in every crowd. She remembered the pain and fear in Xhalax Sun's eyes that night, and understood that this was what it meant to be a Peacekeeper and a mother--to have a child one would never see, never know. It was part of the reason she'd vowed so long ago not to have a child herself. Crichton's pain at the loss of his own child and lover only further reinforced that determination. Better to concentrate on her career and avoid the pain.

As she and Tauvo walked across the crowded deck in companionable silence, Aeryn tried to think of something that might help break the human out of his cycle of depression. Short of conjuring up a wormhole and sending him home, though, nothing immediately came to mind.

The roar of an engine overhead drew her eyes upwards, along with the attention of every soldier and tech nearby. A flag courier, compact and streamlined, glided effortlessly into the hangar and settled into a parking space close to the interior access ports. It was an unusual sight. The couriers were some of the fastest vessels in the Peacekeeper fleet, used primarily to communicate extremely sensitive orders or to convey flag officers rapidly across the expanse of Peacekeeper space. There were none in their convoy, and Aeryn hadn't laid eyes on one in cycles.

She turned a questioning glance at Tauvo, expecting him to know something of this new arrival. His brother was the captain, after all, and often told Tauvo secrets he wouldn't even reveal to Lt. Teeg.

The younger Crais, however, met her look with a helpless shrug. "Bialar didn't mention anything about expecting guests."

They stood together, watching, as the new arrivals disembarked. All through the hangar area, workers and soldiers had paused to observe and wonder, the entire area holding its collective breath in anticipation.

Once the courier's loading ramp descended to the deck, four guards marched out in tandem and took up positions to either side, standing at full attention. Then, microts later, an older man strode down the walkway, exuding dignity with every step. Resplendent in the bars and badges of an admiral, he was heavyset with age and the sedentary life high rank bestowed.

The guard detail fell into step behind the admiral as he walked casually to the doors and into the carrier proper. Once the doors rolled shut behind the procession, the personnel on the deck slowly started moving again. Aeryn and Tauvo looked at each other. An admiral, out here? This was the back of beyond, an unimportant, disregarded border patrol. Aeryn couldn't help but wonder if this new arrival presaged the excitement Lt. Crais professed to crave.

"So what do you think it means?" she asked.

"Not sure," the lieutenant admitted. "Probably either something very good or very bad." He paused, glancing at her, seeming almost nervous. "Do you... have plans before your sleep cycle?"

"No, sir..."

He glanced down at his feet, then seemed to gather his courage and looked into her eyes again. "Would you care to--"

"Actually, Officer Aqida ordered me to report to medical," she interrupted. "It shouldn't take long. After that...perhaps we could meet in the officers' lounge? I could use a drink to wash the stench of battle out of my throat."

An odd look flashed across Tauvo's face for a microt, then vanished into a careful, neutral expression before Aeryn could identify it. "I will go see what I can find out about this new arrival. I'll meet you at the hammond twelve lounge in, what, two arns?"

Aeryn nodded. "I'll see if I can pry Crichton out of that lab of his and bring him along."

* * *

Tall, narrow glass. Lights, refracting and multiplying through the pale, blue liquid as he turned it. Blue...like the mouth of a wormhole. Mesmerizing.

"Crichton? John?" A hand touched his arm, and he blinked, emerging from the trance-like state he'd fallen into. He glanced up to see both Aeryn and Tauvo's faces looking at him, concern etched deeply into both.

He chuckled dismissively. "Sorry guys, drifted off there for a microt." Truth was, he'd been ignoring them. Hadn't even wanted to come in the first place, but Aeryn had insisted on celebrating her successful mission. Then she and Tauvo had gotten embroiled in a flurry of speculation about some ship they'd seen arrive, some bigwig that even Tauvo hadn't been able to discover the identity of. John, quite frankly, couldn't care less.

Something caught his eye just then, something he hadn't noticed earlier. Aeryn had a bandage wound around her upper arm. "What happened there?" he asked, pointing.

"What, this? Just some fekkik with a knife, caught me off guard." She shrugged, like it was nothing. Just another day at the office.

A cold chill raced through John's body, settling into a lump in his stomach. He forgot, sometimes, how very dangerous were the lives his friends here led. They were soldiers, risking themselves daily, without question. Fighting. Killing. Dying.

Death was so common here, so accepted, so completely disregarded. John sometimes felt like he was the only one who knew or cared that Gilina was gone. There'd been no memorial, no burial, no acknowledgement of her loss. Only Aeryn seemed to share with him any sense of regret for her absence, and she hadn't been around to talk to for a while now.

Compared to Aeryn and Tauvo, Gilina should have been the safest one of all. A tech, a non-combatant. She should have outlived John by a century or more and survived to see her five-times-great-grandchildren born. Any of these others--Aeryn, Tauvo, the young soldiers he trained with twice a weeken in hand-to-hand or weapons techniques--could disappear from his life in an instant, with no warning.

Aeryn's hand touched his arm, and John realized he'd zoned out on them again. He gave a self-deprecating half-smile and sipped some fellip nectar.

"How goes your project, Crichton?" Tauvo asked. "You've certainly been working hard on it."

He almost laughed. "Yeah, working hard. Sure." He shook his head. "Running around in circles is more like it. 'Goin' nowhere verra fast.'" He mimicked the proper Scottish accent for that last quote, but the joke was completely lost on this audience.

"Patience, Crichton," Tauvo reassured him. "If it was easy, everybody would be flying through wormholes."

"How long did it take," Aeryn piped in, "to perfect your sling-shot theory?"

"Years," John groaned. "Cycles." With a massive sigh, he nodded. "Point taken, though."

From that point on things flowed much better. In an attempt to draw John into the conversation, they discussed the various training classes he had been attending, for two hours after every work shift since his return. He was learning basic Peacekeeper skills in hand-to-hand and weapons combat, to establish and maintain his qualification for the rank he'd been granted. He could fly Prowlers and various types of transports now, in addition to the Marauders.

Much to his surprise, John had actually found himself enjoying the classes, especially the weapons training. Though his vision was inferior to that of Sebaceans, he still managed to achieve decent marksmanship by picturing Scorpius' face on every target.

Eventually, after a couple of entertaining arns, Aeryn took her leave of them, citing fatigue from the mission she'd so recently completed. Not long thereafter, Tauvo too bid Crichton a good night and headed for his quarters.

After his friends left, John sat for a while just enjoying his drink and relishing the memory of the first enjoyable evening he'd had in a very long time. This was why he'd agreed to come back, why he endured the uniform and the rules and the disdainful looks.

The looks, at least, had diminished since his return, though not due to any change in Peacekeeper prejudices. This new uniform he wore, as uncomfortable as it made him, was the perfect camouflage, allowing him to blend into the crowds. Just another Peacekeeper in a cast of thousands, too low ranking to be worthy of notice. Most didn't look past the uniform, and only a few of the harder cases among the crew actually remembered his face. These days he could wander the hallways and linger in the habitat recreations in relative safety. He'd spent many a sleepless night since the Chair doing just that.

Just as he was about to get up and get himself one last drink, John saw a familiar figure approaching with two glasses in her hands.

"Hello, Crichton," she greeted, holding one of them out. "Have a drink with me?"

John hesitated, then took the proffered glass. This was a first. "Sure, Betal," he said tentatively. "If you're sure you want to be seen socializing with an inferior species."

The dark-haired tech sat down, waving away that concern with forced nonchalance. "You're a Peacekeeper now, Crichton. One of us. If you're good enough for High Command, you ought to be good enough for everyone."

It wasn't the highest praise John had ever received from a woman, but it was better than what he usually got around here. When she'd first been assigned to his wormhole team over a cycle ago, Betal had barely been able to work in the same room with him without squirming. That she now sat willingly within just a few feet of him sharing a drink was something of a miracle.

They weren't even working together anymore, which made this even stranger. The entire wormhole research team had been reassigned to other duties when he and Gilina had left for the gammak base, and at John's request hadn't been returned to the project when he got back. He hadn't wanted to face them, hadn't thought he could handle working with them again day in and day out. It wasn't that he hadn't liked them--their barely civil forced tolerance from the first few monens had eventually given way to grudging respect--he just hadn't wanted to face the memories. It was easier to work alone than to be surrounded by five familiar faces, constantly looking for the missing sixth.

He hadn't seen any of them since getting back. This was the first time one of them had sought him out, and John wasn't sure he wanted to have this conversation. One thing, however, kept him seated, kept him from making his excuses and fleeing: Gilina had once mentioned Betal as the closest thing she'd ever had to a friend. It was a connection, however faint, that he couldn't ignore.

Nervously, John took a large gulp of his new drink, downing half of it in one shot. "So, what's on your mind?" he asked. She probably wanted to know about the wormhole project, wondering why she and her fellow techs had been excluded. John hoped he could come up with some believable explanation that wouldn't bruise her pride, without actually having to tell her the truth.

The tech seemed at least as nervous as he was, gripping her glass with two hands and staring into its depths as if for inspiration. "I've wanted to talk to you, Crichton. I wanted to ask you...about Gilina. About what happened."

_Oh God_. John's mouth went instantly dry. This was every one of his fears realized, a subject he'd been avoiding even thinking about, much less discussing. Every instinct screamed at him to run, hide, avoid, but he was frozen to his chair like a deer caught in the headlights of a speeding semi.

"I don't know if she ever mentioned it," Betal continued, oblivious to John's distress, "but Gilina and I had known each other since I was recruited at four cycles. We were crèche mates. I know she died, but no one wants to talk about her, tell me how or why. I know...I mean, I could tell...you two were close. She was different around you. Will you tell me?"

John swallowed the rest of his drink and sighed, feeling emotions he'd kept locked away starting to rise to the surface. He couldn't talk about this, not here, not with people around watching. But Betal deserved an answer. She deserved to know what her friend had died for, and at whose hands.

Gesturing wordlessly, John got up from the table and the young tech followed. He procured a few bottles of the fellip nectar from the bar--he'd need them to get through this--then led Betal out into the corridors.

As consciousness wormed its way into John's brain the next morning, he tried to turn over and groaned. Sitting up was a trial he never wanted to endure again, and he adamantly refused to turn up the lights, knowing what it would do to his hangover.

He was worn out, limp like a wet towel, wrung out and left to mildew on the bathroom floor. Consequent of a late night, emotional turmoil, alcohol and...well, other things.

He and Betal had talked for arns, safe from prying eyes in the privacy of John's quarters. (Mere crewmen didn't rate private rooms, but an exception had been made in his case, mostly because no one was willing to bunk with the alien.)

Their conversation had been tentative at first, as each one hesitated to broach the painful topics, but eventually they got to the heart of the issue. He'd told her almost everything: his relationship with Gilina, his capture and torture, and her death as Scorpius tried to force him to reveal something he didn't know. The only points he held back were the plans he and Gilina had made to defect, and the baby.

He'd cried, and Betal hadn't, which threw a monkey wrench into John's whole sense of gender propriety but was absolutely typical of a Peacekeeper. He had yet to see a single one of them, even Gilina, so much as shed a tear for anything or anyone.

John closed his eyes and sighed, disgusted with himself for what had followed.

He could make excuses--they were both drunk, both grieving, and sex was a common response to loss. Life, as it were, surmounting death. And it wasn't like she'd been unwilling. But none of that changed the fact that he'd slept with Gilina's best friend. It felt like a betrayal of her memory.

By the time John forced himself out of bed, through a cold shower, and into his uniform, he was nearly late. No time for first meal, but his stomach wasn't ready to discuss food just yet anyway. He staggered down the corridor to the nearest level riser, off to the lab for another pointless day of banging his head against impossible equations. So far, the Ancients' "unconscious knowledge" wasn't guiding him anywhere.

Two soldiers, anonymous behind the reflective visors of their duty helmets, were standing in the level riser when he got on. John knew from experience that wishing them a good morning would get him nothing more than an annoyed glare, if he got any response at all. He decided not to bother today; the silence was kinder to his pounding head.

It took several microts for John to notice when the riser didn't stop at his deck. He looked quizzically at the controls but could see nothing obvious wrong with them. Perhaps a glitch in the system? Before he could do more than wonder, however, the doors opened onto a different level, one of the lower ones that John had never explored.

Without warning, one of the soldiers behind him grabbed his arms, pinning them behind his back. John had a sudden, horrifying flashback to his arrest on the gammak base and started to struggle, but the second man stepped in front of him and delivered a perfect Pantak jab that sent him spinning into darkness.

Returning to consciousness was painful, as always, and more so due to the hangover. Saro Abljak, his first self-defense instructor here on the carrier, had used Pantak jabs on him a number of times, always smirking afterwards about how susceptible humans were to them. John had eventually learned to block the strike nine times out of ten, but this time he'd had no chance to fight back.

He was sprawled on the floor, and the first impression he had upon opening his eyes was darkness. Like the cell.... A cold sweat broke out along his spine as he struggled to get up. As his eyes adjusted, he found he could distinguish bare metal walls, randomly discolored in ways he didn't want to think too closely about.

There was a sound behind him, someone clearing their throat. John turned slowly, fully expecting to see Scorpius lurking in the shadows, his nightmares come to life. Instead he saw two men, both Sebacean, waiting calmly at the far end of the room. One of them, an older man with thinning white hair, sat behind a simple table, while the younger man stood at parade rest behind his right shoulder, eyes fixed forward like a statue.

"What the...?" In the absence of Scorpius, John felt his fear transform into anger and indignation. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded, stomping towards the table. "And what was with the goon squad?"

The statue man broke his stance and speared Crichton with a deadly glare. "I would suggest, _Crewman_ Crichton, that you moderate your tone when addressing the Admiral."

_Admiral? Oh shit_.... The adrenaline-charged aggression faded quickly, and John fumbled into a more respectful stance. _This must be the guy Aeryn and Tauvo were talking about last night_. "My apologies, sir," he said quickly. Now that he was closer and his eyes were adjusting to the gloom, he could see that the older man's pristine scarlet and black uniform carried a great deal more decoration than he was used to seeing here on the carrier.

The admiral, for his part, frowned and harrumphed. "As to who I am..." he rumbled.

"The Admiral's identity is classified, for his own security," the lackey interjected. He spoke the title with audible capitalization.

"My position as head of Special Directorate," the older man clarified, glancing at his toady in annoyance, "would make me prime target for abduction or assassination if my identity were known. You will address me by title only."

"Special Directorate, sir?" John asked, unfamiliar with that branch.

"You have heard stories, perhaps, of disruptors?"

"Yes, Admiral, a little." Aeryn and Tauvo had occasionally talked about them. "Deep cover agents. Spies."

"Among other things," the man said cryptically. "All Peacekeeper disruptors operate under the auspices of Special Directorate."

_Frell_. John realized with a shudder he was speaking to the director of the Peacekeeper CIA. Or maybe the KGB was a closer parallel.

The admiral leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together thoughtfully. "I had you brought here because I wished to speak to you privately, in a secure location."

"Me, sir?"

"For an unclassified alien, so newly inducted into service, you are quite popular, Crewman. High Command has received no fewer than a dozen applications for your transfer to a gammak base as a research assistant in the past quarter cycle."

John swallowed, fear rising again. "Over my dead body," he muttered under his breath, knowing who had made those requests.

If the admiral heard that, he ignored it. "So far, your Captain Crais has declined these applications, insisting that your work here on the carrier is indispensable; High Command has been honoring his refusals as a matter of course."

_Thank you, Captain._

"Recently, however, another request for your services was made to High Command. Due to the importance of this petition, Command has now chosen to provisionally suspend Captain Crais' objections."

_Oh, hell_. "If I may ask, sir, who asked for me this time?"

"I did. One of our disruptors recently reported a possible crisis brewing, one which you are uniquely suited to solve. I'm here to encourage you to volunteer for a very special mission."

"Me, sir? I'm not a disruptor. Hell, I'm barely a Peacekeeper!"

"That will be to your advantage, actually. If we tried to give you disruptor training at this late date, it would be obvious. It takes cycles of intensive education and practice for a disruptor to know his or her job so well that the training doesn't show. It is a disruptor's job to blend in, to be something he's not. You, on the other hand, can simply be what you are: a Sebacean-like alien that no one could possibly suspect of being a Peacekeeper. That is why I chose you for this assignment."

"So what is it you expect me to do?"

The younger man spoke just as the admiral was opening his mouth to reply. "That's classified, Crewman."

The admiral glared at his flunky once again. "Shut up, Tebers." He turned to face John again. "Crichton, you will be told what you need to know when it becomes necessary. Until that time, recall that it is not a soldier's place to question orders."

John glanced back and forth between Tebers and the Admiral, but neither was forthcoming with any more information. "Okay, so let me get this straight...you have a situation out on some unnamed planet, your best bet for a solution is a half-trained human Peacekeeper, and you won't tell me what the mission is. I heard you use the word 'volunteer'; I assume that means I can say no?"

"You can."

"Well then, sorry Charlie, but I'm not buying any today. Get yourself another sucker."

The admiral gave a dramatic sigh and sat back, shaking his head. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that, Crichton, but I'm sure Scorpius will be very pleased."

John felt his stomach clench. "Scorpius? What the hell are you saying?"

The smile this time did have humor in it, and was far more frightening. "As I told you, High Command has suspended Captain Crais' objections to your transfer. Since you have chosen to decline my offer, Scorpius' transfer request will be approved as a matter of course."

"That's blackmail!"

Now the admiral frowned. "I am unfamiliar with the term, Crewman, but rest assured, I am quite accustomed to getting what I want. One way or the other."

John stared down at the floor, trying to squash down the rage and terror that threatened to overwhelm him. Hell of a choice: get sent back to Scorpius, or accept the mystery prize behind door number one. It couldn't be good. But the question was, could it possibly be worse than Scorpius?

* * *

That night in the officers' lounge, Aeryn watched Crichton sit and play with his glass while they waited for Lt. Crais. He was looking even more dejected than usual. _Frell_, she groused to herself. _I thought he was starting to snap out of it last night_.

"What's the matter, Crichton?"

The human rubbed his fingers across his forehead, refusing to meet her gaze. "Nothing. I don't want to talk about it," he replied.

"Which is it? Nothing, or something you don't want to discuss?" She got no reply, but Crichton slouched further, planting his elbows on the table and burying his face in his hands.

Crais arrived moments later, looking preoccupied and examining the slumped form of the human with a bemused expression. "Crichton!" he greeted brightly, slapping him on the shoulder hard enough to nearly slam his face into the table. "All your appendages still attached?"

"Wha'?" The response was distracted, confused, as Crichton recovered from the blow.

"You met with an admiral, I hear, and first yelled at him to his face, then told him to frell off when he offered you an important assignment. You're lucky he didn't stuff your mivonks down your throat!" Tauvo seemed to find this endlessly amusing, but headed off for the bar to get a drink before Crichton could reply.

Aeryn, for her part, was shocked. _The admiral we saw? What did he want with John?_ "Is that what's got you in such a blue flunk, Crichton?"

Crichton's eyebrows drew together at that, followed by a real laugh this time. Aeryn felt some of the tension fade out of him. "It's 'funk', Aeryn. A blue funk. And no, I'm not upset because I told the Admiral where to stick it."

"Then what _is_ the problem?"

"Problem is the fat bastard turned around and made me an offer I couldn't refuse, so I caved."

Aeryn frowned, impatient with yet another incomprehensible human metaphor. "What the frell does that mean?"

Crichton looked down at the table, absently tracing a small crack in the surface with one finger. "He just made it very, very difficult for me to turn him down."

"What does he want you to do?"

Crichton shrugged helplessly. "Hell if I know. All he did was spin me some 'need to know' crap; didn't tell me a freakin' thing."

Tauvo arrived back at the table at that point. He threw a leg over the back of a chair across the table from Aeryn and sat down, setting his drink in front of him. "I just got out of a meeting with the senior staff. The admiral was a bit irritated at your attitude, Crichton, but I spoke up in your defense, told him I had worked with you before and had had no problems with your attitude or ideas in the past."

"And what did the high-and-mighty admiral have to say about that?"

"He decided to put me in command of the transport for the mission." Crais smiled and took a swig of his raslak.

Crichton perked up a bit. "Hey, cool. It'll be nice to have someone to talk to. We taking a Marauder, or does Admiral 'M' rate something bigger, like a Vigilante or the Intruder?"

"Actually, Crichton, it won't be any of those. According to the admiral, we're heading out to the Breakaway Colonies, and they are notoriously hostile to Peacekeepers. We'd be stopped at the border, and if we tried to cross in anything less than a command carrier, they'd very likely blast us to Hezmana. So we're going to be flying something a bit less conspicuous."

John blinked. "Wow, you got more information out of him than I did. Breakaway Colonies, huh? I've never heard of them."

"They're a small but powerful group of Sebacean worlds, well outside Peacekeeper space in the Uncharteds. They're descended from a group that defected nearly two thousand cycles ago, due to philosophical differences."

John's forehead furrowed as he seemed to reconstruct a memory. "Wait... there was a revolution, right? I remember... somebody... telling me about that. It was all because they objected to the Peacekeeper conscription of children, back when the population was declining because of some genetic tinkering."

"I suppose," Tauvo said, waving away the insignificant historical details. "We'll be traveling undercover, as a trading vessel. Out of uniform, little or no weaponry. I wasn't told _why_ we are going, just that we are going."

Aeryn was sorry to hear that both men would be leaving on this mysterious mission. It would be very quiet around here without them. "When do you leave?" she asked.

Tauvo counted off points on his fingers. "It'll take a few days to ready the ship for the journey, stock it with provisions and cargo appropriate for our cover. The admiral also wanted me to put together a small crew of commandos, just in case something goes wrong. But once that's done, we need to leave as soon as possible. The admiral indicated that speed was essential."

Aeryn nodded, then had a sudden thought. "My squad is down to half strength; the two who were injured will be off the duty roster for weekens. Would three be sufficient for your crew, Lieutenant? It would give Aqida, Leyn and I something useful to do in the interim."

Tauvo's face brightened at the idea, as did Crichton's. "Three would be perfect; great idea, Aeryn. I'd been worried about having to break up an established team."

Crichton spoke up then, too. "God, that would be great. With both of you along, I might just survive this whole fiasco."

"I will draft orders for all of you in the morning," Tauvo assured Aeryn.

"Tauvo," John wondered, "did you learn anything else about this stupid mission? All I got out of the admiral and his flunky was a bunch of 'classified' bullshit."

"It was much the same in the meeting I attended, Crichton, but it's not unusual. I cannot fathom what this admiral would possibly want with you, though. He came a very long way just to speak to you, and he said he'd be traveling with us when we go, so whatever it is must be important. Has High Command taken an interest in your wormholes or something?"

John shook his head. "Not that I know of."

Aeryn shrugged philosophically. "Senior officers are not known for explaining themselves to mere soldiers. We follow orders. We don't ask questions."

"Well, I'd hate to screw up a perfectly good secret mission with something silly like knowing what the hell is going on," John growled sarcastically.

Tauvo frowned. "Crichton--"

John waved him off. "Look, let's just drop it, okay? I'm tired of thinking about it." He pulled a small tactical simulator out from under his chair and placed it on the table. "How about a game, Tauvo? Whupping you into the astroturf would really help cheer me up."

* * *

John stood on the command deck of the transport, watching the screen for some sign of the ship they'd be taking to the Colonies. Tauvo had been close-mouthed and somewhat smug in keeping the details secret, saying only that John would understand when they arrived.

Aeryn and her diminished Marauder crew were seated in the rear compartment, looking completely uncomfortable in the semi-civilian clothing the Admiral had ordered them all to wear. They weren't happy to be going on a mission without their Marauder, either.

John, for his part, was feeling more comfortable than he had in a very long time, dressed in the IASA clothing he'd worn on his trip through the wormhole in the _Farscape_. The khaki and white set him apart from the rest, who still mostly stuck with a color scheme of black on black despite their lack of uniforms.

The transport swung out, away from the carrier, and swooped down towards the small cluster of captive Leviathans that congregated nearby. John looked closer, expecting to see some smaller ship concealed within the herd, but it soon became apparent that they were approaching one of the gigantic living ships instead. One he recognized.

He turned to the lieutenant, who was watching John's reaction with a smirk on his face. "What was it you said? 'Less conspicuous'? What the hell is inconspicuous about a Leviathan, Tauvo?"

"Who would ever suspect us of being Peacekeepers when we arrive in a ship with no weapons and no control collar?"

John had his finger raised, prepared to give a scathing retort, but the argument died on his lips. "Good point," he finally said.

"That's why I suggested Moya. Lt. Larell has worked hard, helping her recover from NamTar's memory wipe. Larell decided that replacing the control collar would cause more damage to the ship's neural systems right now, but she doesn't remember how to starburst anyway and doesn't seem inclined to run. She's perfect for this mission."

"It's good that you've been taking care of her."

The transport slipped into the Leviathan's hangar, guided by the docking web in an eerie repetition of John's first day over the rainbow. It was nice to see that evidence of Moya's recovery; last time he'd been aboard, almost nothing had been working.

When they disembarked and filed through the massive bay doors, Tauvo found himself confronted by an irate Delvian. "Lieutenant!" she snapped without preamble, marching gracefully up to him. "I strongly object to this! Moya is in no condition to be taken into a dangerous situation. She cannot yet starburst and would have no defense if the ship were threatened."

Tauvo crossed his arms and glared at the blue woman. "You forget your position here, Priest," he growled. "The fact that you are here, and not confined to a cell, is a privilege that could easily be revoked. As for Moya, she is fit to travel according to Lt. Larell and will be in no more danger on this journey than she has been in the company of a Peacekeeper battlegroup. We're going, whether you approve or not. Let us pass."

Zhaan glared daggers, but after a moment she stepped aside. Tauvo led the group past, marching purposefully into the corridors beyond the maintenance bay without a backward glance, the commandos following smartly along. John couldn't help but look back, and he caught a glimpse of the Delvian priestess passing her hands prayerfully over her hairless scalp. He hoped, for the ship's sake, that her fears would prove groundless.

* * *

Thirty solar days into their journey and Aeryn was growing ever more frustrated with John. And with herself.

There were times, like this morning, when John seemed almost back to normal, complete with endless chatter and incomprehensible jokes. But then, often in the middle of a conversation, his eyes would lose focus and darken, his attention waver, and his good mood would vanish like water boiling away in a vacuum. She couldn't tell if this was John still grieving for Gilina or if it was something new.

It was happening again now. They'd been sitting together in the Leviathan's center chamber, sharing first meal and enjoying a pleasant conversation. But now, suddenly, John was tense, silent, staring at the window out into space.

She wanted to do...something. Say something. Frell her sideways, this strange man who called her friend was in pain and she wanted to _help_. But she had no clue how. It wasn't part of her training.

John seemed to rouse from his fugue after a few microts to notice where he was. With a terse, barely audible apology, he got to his feet and drifted out into the hallways, his half eaten meal still sitting on the table.

Aeryn sighed as she watched him go.

A flicker of movement caught her eye and Aeryn turned. The Delvian priest was standing in the doorway that Crichton had just passed through, her gaze following the slouched figure as it turned a corner. "He is disturbed by something. I sense a darkness to his spirit that was not there the last time we met."

Aeryn shrugged uncomfortably. "I suppose."

Piercing blue eyes turned to gaze at her, boring deep until Aeryn had to turn away.

"You care for him, don't you my dear?" More than a question, the Delvian's tone conveyed both wonder and outright shock.

"He is a valued comrade. A friend."

The priest just gave her a knowing smile as she glided in and sat down near her. "If you say so, child. Do you know what it is that troubles him so?"

Aeryn sighed and shook her head. "It could be anything, or everything. Or nothing. The past few monens have been...difficult for him. A woman he cared for was killed. I thought he was getting better, but ever since we started out on this mission, he's been acting oddly. More so than usual."

"Perhaps it is the mission itself which disturbs him," Zhaan suggested. "Pilot has told me more about his efforts to help Moya and Lt. Crais at NamTar's station. He is a compassionate being, and--no insult intended--Peacekeepers are not known for that trait."

A cycle ago, Aeryn might indeed have taken offense at that remark. Not because it wasn't true, but at the implication that there was anything wrong with it. But now.... The monens she'd spent in the Territories with John and Gilina--alone in the Marauder, on the false Earth, on Sykar--had given her a unique perspective.

She just shook her head; it wasn't relevant. "I doubt it. None of us has been told yet what the mission is. He's just been...distracted lately. I went to the maintenance bay yesterday and heard him talking to someone. Arguing. But when I went in, there was no one there but Crichton. I don't think he's sleeping well, either."

"I would offer my assistance to him if I could," the priest mused. "But he would not likely accept it; he does not know me, and so would not easily trust me. He might, however, accept it from you."

Aeryn glared at the woman, who was far too perceptive for her comfort. She clamped her mouth shut, unwilling to give away any more than she already, apparently, had.

"There is nothing shameful in wanting to help a friend, my dear," she assured her, perhaps taking her silence for reluctance.

Aeryn leapt to her feet and started to storm out of the room. _How dare she?_ As she reached the door, however, her steps faltered. Leaning one hand against the door frame, she gazed down the empty corridor where John had so recently disappeared.

"I am not ashamed," she insisted. It was true, though all her Peacekeeper training insisted that what she was feeling was wrong. "I just don't know...."

"Of course," the Delvian mused, as if all were suddenly clear. "No one has ever shown you compassion, so how would you know how to offer it?"

_Crichton has_, Aeryn realized, remembering her injury on the _Zelbinion_, and Crichton's insistence that she could live and be more in spite of it. His careful silence about her actions on Sykar. His insane insistence on rescuing Tauvo--and then her--from NamTar's sadistic experiments.

"If you would like my advice, child--"

"I am not your child," Aeryn snapped, suddenly disgusted with herself and this whole conversation. "I do not need advice from anyone, and especially not from a religious zealot from an inferior species!"

She stormed out and marched down the corridor without another word. She was being weak, like a four-cycle recruit missing her mommy, and this prisoner was going to lose all respect for Peacekeeper discipline if she didn't get herself under control. She'd find a way to help Crichton, whether the infuriating man wanted it or not, and she'd do it herself.

* * *

"So you actually understand what he's doing?" John asked Tauvo in wonder, watching the dizzying spectacle of Pilot's four arms tracking every system on Moya. That the huge creature could monitor the entire ship and all of her functions and still carry on an intelligent conversation at the same time was simply mind-boggling. They'd been in transit now for over three monens, and John still hadn't tired of coming here to talk to Pilot. This was the first time he'd talked Tauvo into joining him, though, and it was proving to be the most interesting trip yet.

Tauvo Crais, standing on the opposite side of the console, nodded slightly. "I don't know why; I've been aboard Leviathans before, but never sensed anything like this. I know the sequences, what each panel does and in what order."

"Maybe it's a remnant of what NamTar did to you. An echo from Pilot's DNA or something."

Tauvo's head jerked up and his eyes narrowed. "Don't ever even suggest that! You know the rules on contamination; I was lucky to escape with my life when it happened."

John swallowed nervously and backed off a step. "Hey, back off Bro, I didn't mean anything by it!"

Pilot looked up, his eyes bulging slightly as he gazed at the Peacekeeper who was standing far too close for comfort. "I, too, find the concept...disturbing, Lieutenant. It was an unpleasant experience for myself, as well as for Moya."

Tauvo simply nodded dismissively, still glaring at Crichton.

Time for a change of subject, John decided. "You're both doing lots better now, though, right, Pilot? I see your arm grew back."

"Very much better, thank you, Commander." John blinked to hear Pilot use his old IASA rank. "Moya's primary systems are nearly all restored to function. She still lacks her memories prior to the data wipe, but most of her general data stores have been restored by transfusion from another Leviathan."

Tauvo took to the change of subject readily. "The damage was quite extensive, I'm told. The original connection between Pilot and Moya was artificial, a forced bonding and a fairly unstable one. NamTar's crystal damaged it, so Lt. Larell had to disconnect him completely and allow a natural bonding to occur instead, so the connections would heal and grow gradually."

"The link is not yet fully complete," Pilot clarified, "but it is a relief to be free of the pain."

John started to say something, but was thwarted by an exhausted yawn. "Damn," he muttered, fatigue washing over him like a wave.

"Sleepless night?" Tauvo asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Don't give me that look, bro. My insomnia is entirely self-inflicted; you know these PK commando chicks won't give the poor alien the time of day."

Tauvo got an odd look on his face. "What about Officer Sun?" There was a tone in his voice that John hadn't heard before.

"Aeryn? She's a friend, man, that's all." There was an almost imperceptible relaxation from Tauvo, and John had a sudden thought. "Wait a second...are you hot for the lovely Aeryn Sun, Lieutenant?" Another subtle shift of facial muscles. "Hah! You are!"

Crais shrugged and nodded. "I find her...attractive, but I don't think...she doesn't seem...."

"She shot you down?"

"Shot me--what an interesting metaphor, Crichton. No, I've never actually invited her to recreate; she just doesn't seem receptive."

John pondered the dilemma for a moment. "Don't know what to tell you, bro...your world's a lot different than what I'm used to. But one thing seems to be the same on both sides of the universe--women are incomprehensible to men." He was about to say something else, but another yawn attacked without warning. "Damn," he muttered, rubbing his face briskly and combing his fingers back through his hair.

"If you'll pardon the presumption, Commander," Pilot interjected, "Moya and I have noted your difficulty sleeping since your arrival on board. Perhaps you should ask Pa'u Zhaan for a remedy."

John tried to dismiss the concern with a wave of his hand. "Nah, it's okay, Pilot."

Tauvo, however, was not fooled, and their brief diversion was forgotten. "Crichton, I've noticed something wrong for a while now. If your sleep cycle is truly disturbed to the point of--"

"It's nothing," John insisted sharply, cutting him off.

Tauvo was silent for a moment, his gaze boring into John with furrowed brows, weighing and judging. John nearly gave in to the urge to squirm.

"Crichton," the lieutenant finally said. "Do not forget that I am your superior officer. You have not been acting like yourself for several monens, but I've not made an issue of it until now because it didn't seem to adversely affect your work. As a superior officer and a fellow Peacekeeper, I have a duty to ensure that you can perform to standard."

John frowned and looked away, but said nothing.

"As your friend, however," Tauvo continued in a gentler tone, "I am worried about _you_."

That brought him to a standstill. Even Pilot paused briefly in surprise at the revelation before continuing the endless monitoring and adjustments.

John had been in this part of the universe, among the Peacekeepers, for over a year now. He'd been through massive culture shock at first, until he grew accustomed to the very different views these people had on life and relationships. Peacekeeper soldiers were allowed to have 'friends', but their concept of that connection was fairly superficial. They'd share a drink, shoot the breeze, and generally enjoy each other's company. Even sex was casual, nothing more than a release of tension.

To _care_ about someone, though.... That was not just unusual, it was against quite a number of regulations. It happened--Gilina had been proof of that, and John suspected Aeryn had made the leap, to an extent--but Lt. Crais had just crossed a serious line with that last statement.

"Tauvo," John said quietly, matching the implied intimacy. "It's not any one thing, and I'm handling it. Maybe I will talk to the priest lady, see if she's got any Nyquil. That stuff'll knock out a Marine platoon."

Tauvo looked puzzled for a microt, as the odd words flowed past his microbes, but didn't look like he was going to let the subject slide. But before he could speak up again, a voice blared through the comms from Pilot's console. It was Lt. Tebers, the admiral's pet gofer. "Pilot," he demanded brusquely, "locate Crewman Crichton and the Delvian for me."

Pilot looked up at his guest for a microt before replying. John shrugged and nodded. "Commander Crichton is here in the den, Lieutenant. Pa'u Zhaan is in her chambers," Pilot reported.

Without a word of acknowledgement, much less thanks, Tebers' snapped out, "Crichton, collect the Delvian and report to Command immediately. We are about to arrive at the border."

"Yes sir, Lieutenant sir!" John replied, rolling his eyes and affecting such a mocking expression that Tauvo pressed his knuckles against his lips and shook silently until Pilot closed the channel.

Then he burst out laughing. "Crichton, you are incorrigible!"

"Aw, Tauvo, you say the sweetest things," John quipped back, the lightness in his tone disguising the sinking feeling in his gut. They had arrived, and his quarter-cycle idyll was over. Whatever the admiral had in mind for him, he'd be hip-deep in it soon.

Touching the biomechanoid comms badge he'd been issued, he called out, "Hey, Pa'u Zhaan!"

There was a lengthy silence, and John was just about to call again when the Delvian answered with a serene, "Yes, John?"

In spite of his darkening mood, John grinned; he couldn't help it. Three months of exposure to the Delvian priest and her habits gave him a pretty good picture of what she'd been doing to achieve that air of utter calm, and what she was probably wearing while doing it. "Put your clothes on, Blue. Sorry to interrupt the zen thing, but the show must go on."

The silence was just as lengthy this time, and yet somehow managed to carry overtones of exasperation. "Crichton...."

"Sorry, Zhaan. We're just about there; Admiral wants us up on Command." For some reason, which again had not been explained.

"I will meet you there."

When they reached the border, both Zhaan and Pilot just about freaked at the swarm of self-tracking pulse cannons that locked Moya in a cross-targeted helix. A surly planetary security officer commed them almost immediately, demanding to know their identity and reason for trespassing.

John had done a fair bit of research on the Colonies since learning they were his destination, and so he wasn't particularly surprised; Peacekeeper intelligence reports had stated that the government here was in transition, with a new ruler due to be selected and crowned soon. By long tradition, the Colonies closed their borders to traffic during these periods, and got a bit paranoid about their security.

The admiral had only smiled when John brought that little problem to his attention. Did he really expect these hard-line isolationists to make an exception for one lonely cargo vessel?

John did his best to look busy as the admiral--in his assumed role as the representative of a small trading company--patiently talked his way past the low-echelon security and through more than a dozen levels of royal bureaucracy, seeking someone with the power to grant permission to approach.

Watching the man operate, John began to see what he'd meant by the level of training disruptors received. The man _became_ the role he played, and John truly couldn't see a trace of "the admiral" anywhere. Still a commanding presence, which the role called for, he lost all trace of the menacing aura he'd always projected. His manner became easy, friendly, and respectful. He smiled often, the consummate businessman, inspiring trust.

Finally, after three arns of fruitless negotiation, a harried-looking young man in white appeared on the screen, looking annoyed at the summons. "I am Councilor Tyno. What is your purpose here?"

The 'captain' stepped forward to address this new inquiry. "Councilor, my name is Tal Jaran. My crew and I would like permission to approach your world and deliver the coronation gifts we were commissioned to transport."

The conversation from there progressed more or less as John had expected. Government bureaucracies seemed nearly universal, each having an apparently inexhaustible number of ways to say 'no'.

As he spoke earnestly, assuring the councilor that they carried neither large weapons nor illicit cargo and merely desired peaceful trade, the admiral wandered around the bridge, stopping first to look at Zhaan's console and lay a friendly hand on her shoulder, then moving over to John in a seemingly random migration across the deck.

Something changed then, and John couldn't figure out what caused it. Without warning, Tyno suddenly became very agreeable, and soon Moya's crew not only had permission to take up orbit around the Royal Planet but also had invitations to attend a social gathering at the palace that evening.

_What the hell?_

* * *

"No!" Aeryn snapped, perhaps a bit too loudly, as the tenth attractive man approached her with a tiny glass bottle and a hopeful expression. The man's eyes widened and he slunk away, tail between his legs.

"Having a problem, Aeryn?"

She turned, and grimaced when she saw Crais. The lieutenant wore an amused smirk. The two of them had accompanied the admiral and Crichton to the surface, leaving Senior Officer Aqida in charge back on Moya.

"Males," she growled back.

"What's the problem? I'm quite enjoying myself."

"As I said: males. Ruled by your mivonks, the lot of you."

Tauvo's grin widened. He shrugged unrepentantly. "Probably true. Even Crichton seems to be having a good time."

Aeryn glanced over at the human, who was at that moment in the midst of kissing a woman on the far side of the room. She shook her head; men were all alike, no matter what their species.

The kiss broke. John looked puzzled, but the woman smiled ecstatically. Suddenly the whole room was buzzing with murmurs.

"Look...the princess!" "She's smiling!"

Within microts, before Aeryn could react, Crichton was being led away, surrounded by guards.

The admiral appeared at Aeryn's elbow, watching the spectacle. "Excellent," he murmured.

* * *

When she reached the door to the room Crichton was sequestered in, Aeryn paused to watch as he stalked back and forth, muttering angrily. After a few moments of this, John swung around with a furious epithet and kicked the low bed frame.

"Good power in the kick," Tauvo quipped from behind her, "but I don't think the furniture was offering a serious threat."

John turned to glare at the both of them and didn't smile, just turned and limped over to the bench and sat down. "Well, since I can't kick that frelling ad--"

"Crichton," Aeryn interrupted, stepping into the room and holding her hand up in warning. Surveillance of some type was a strong possibility here.

"--fine, that frelling _asshole_ who calls himself captain, I have to settle for what's available."

Aeryn frowned. 'Captain Jaran' had managed to get them permission to come up and check on their wayward shipmate, but nothing he or any of the palace staff said had given her a clue about what was going on. "Crichton--" she started to ask.

Hearing Tauvo clear his throat, Aeryn stopped and turned. Crais gave her one warning look, then stepped back from the door, letting the admiral brush past him and enter.

"Well, Crichton!" the old man greeted with an effusive smile. "You seem to have stumbled into an unexpected opportunity."

John, his face contorted in barely controlled rage, leapt to his feet. "Unexpected my ass! You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?"

The old man frowned, then extracted a small instrument from a hidden pocket. He turned a full circle, then gave a quick glance at the indicator. "No listening devices." He nodded and put the object away. "Your arrival may have caught them unprepared, or perhaps your new status precludes any such intrusion. To answer your impertinent question, yes, I did suspect this might be the result of our visit."

"So this is why you dragged my ass all the way out here to the hind end of nowhere? What the hell is so important about this? The princess has a brother, right? Let him inherit!"

"Prince Clavor is nothing but a Scarran puppet," the admiral informed him. "If he should take the throne, the Colonies would ally themselves with the Scarrans, against us. We believe they are the ones who poisoned the princess."

"Well, pardon my ignorance, but so frelling what? We're a long way from Peacekeeper space here; what's it to you if these folks decide to play nice with the lizard people?"

This time it was Crais who spoke. "Crichton, the Royal Colonies are a keystone to this entire sector of the Uncharted Territories. Their enforced neutrality has kept either side from getting a toehold here for centuries. If they were to make an alliance, many other worlds would fall to Scarran advance, giving our enemy resources we can ill-afford for them to get."

John waved off the explanation. "You know what? I don't care. It's not my problem. I did not sign up to get farmed out for stud fees!"

"You are a Peacekeeper." The old man enunciated each word carefully. "It is your duty to follow orders, to go where you are needed and do what is required, whatever the cost. Bringing you here was our best chance to thwart the Scarrans."

John's face was getting redder by the microt, and Aeryn started to fear that he'd rupture something, or go completely fahrbot and do something stupid.

"I'll tell you what you can do with your 'best alternative', you bastard! Just take a flying fuck at a rolling donut! I won't do it!"

There was no warning. One microt John was standing toe to toe with the admiral, looming over the much shorter and older man, and the next he was moaning and nearly unconscious, sprawled on the floor. Even Aeryn, recently graduated from the advanced training given to the Marauder commandos, had barely been able to follow the admiral's attack, it was so quick and so devastating. She was impressed, despite herself; the admiral might be old, past his prime, but he'd been a disruptor in his youth and obviously still kept up his training.

The old man stood over the floundering human, arms crossed, and waited until the bleary blue eyes focused on him. "You _will_ do as you are told, Crichton. I don't care if you don't like it, or if something offends your delicate alien sensibilities. You are a Peacekeeper now; you took an oath to obey your superior officers."

The old man then turned and marched towards the door. Just before leaving, however, he turned back. "And I would also remind you that, if you choose not to cooperate, your alternate assignment is still waiting for you." The admiral swept out at that, summoning both Crais and Sun to follow him with an imperious gesture. After indulging in one last, lingering look at John, Aeryn hurried to catch up.

* * *

John Crichton lay perfectly still on the large, plush bed, fingers laced behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Despite the appearance of repose, there was nothing of peace in his eyes or his mind.

_All that time I spent studying this place_, he groused internally. _All those times I laughed at their odd monarchy and strange customs. Look who's laughing now...._

A flicker of motion in his peripheral vision; someone was at the door. He didn't turn to look, but he saw a flash of dark hair, hesitating just outside. "Come on in, Aeryn," he said quietly. "It's safe--I haven't thrown anything at anybody in close to an arn."

She appeared microts later at the foot of the bed, a hint of a smirk teasing the corner of her mouth. She probably knew he was joking; the only loose objects in the room were some small pillows, and those wouldn't be very emotionally satisfying projectiles.

She sat down on the bench at the foot of the bed and gazed at him over the toes of his shoes, saying nothing. John sighed; the woman wasn't much of a talker, but she could wield her silence like weapon, as deadly as her pulse rifle.

He resisted as long as possible--talking would make everything too real--and settled on avoidance. "So, you finally managed to ditch Attila the Hun I see."

Aeryn gave him a glare, one that conveyed as clearly as speech both her confusion and her knowledge that he was evading something. She let him get away with it for the moment, but John knew it wouldn't last.

"Tauvo and I have been escorting 'Captain Jaran' around while he sought out trade opportunities with this system. Otherwise I'd have been back sooner."

"Ah." The admiral was obviously burying himself in the part he'd given himself to play, acting the ambitious entrepreneur to the hilt.

Aeryn went on. "The captain has now retired to his chambers here in the palace for the night. I think Tauvo went back to the party."

"You should join him, enjoy yourself while you've got the chance. After all, you could be stuck back on Moya with the rest of your crew."

"I wanted to talk to you. Crais will find his own entertainment."

John's mouth quirked up at one corner. "Hope he's careful about who he kisses."

Aeryn's face got serious, and she leaned down with her elbows on her knees. "Is that what started all this? That woman you kissed?"

"'Jaran' didn't tell you?"

Aeryn shook her head mutely.

John sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, then sat up on the edge of the bed. He gave her a quick recap of the day's events: the solemn request, the kiss that tasted sweet, and his swift removal and isolation. "I should have known it was gonna be something like this," John groused. "I looked the Colonies up when Tauvo told me where we were going, downloaded everything the carrier's database had. I read the stuff over a dozen times on the trip out here. I knew they were getting close to coronation time, and the records made it sound like something was wonky...."

Aeryn shrugged. "I only recall a little about the Breakaway Colonies, myself. Their defection--and their survival--is one of the few great failures acknowledged in our history. Not a subject my instructors cared to dwell on."

John shook his head, bewildered. "This monarchy has some of the weirdest inheritance laws I have ever heard of; I guess their compatibility problems make them a bit paranoid. The princess has to have a husband, one who can give her heirs, or she can't ascend the throne. That councilor guy, Tyno, said somebody's screwed with her DNA, so she's not compatible with anyone."

"Except you."

_Oh, thank you so much for reminding me_, he though sarcastically. Then he pounded his fist into the mattress. "Frell!" The outburst made Aeryn jump slightly, but she said nothing as he leapt to his feet and started pacing across the room. "And to top it off, they're gonna turn us into statues for eighty cycles to learn the ropes. I can't...no, I won't...damn it! Rock, me, hard place...what the hell can I do?" He snatched up a pillow and threw it against the wall with all his strength, but he'd been right; it didn't help.

Aeryn got up and grabbed him, arresting his motion. "John," she said to his face, very deliberately, holding him by his shoulders.

It worked. The use of his name was a shock; Gilina had called him that, but most everyone else used his rank or surname. It was a level of familiarity Aeryn didn't often descend to.

With an explosive sigh, he collapsed back to sit on the bed again. Aeryn crouched down, hands on his knees. "You're being too emotional, Crichton. You have to get past that, think about this rationally--"

John gave a harsh laugh. "Rationally? Fuck rationally, Aeryn; I am not a Peacekeeper automaton. I'm mad, and I'm scared, and I can't just turn it off."

Aeryn scowled, and for a second it looked like she might stalk out in disgust. But then she closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again she was gazing deeply into his. "The Peacekeeper way has many flaws --you've helped me to see that--but it also has its occasional advantages. We are trained from birth to set our emotions aside, so they won't impair our efficiency or distract us from duty. You need to think clearly right now. What are your options?"

John just shook his head, his thoughts still whirling without direction. The harder he tried to wrestle them under control, the wilder the swings of emotion became.

Aeryn held up one finger. "You could run. The Barren Lands outside the city are vast and harsh; you might be able to hide there for a long time."

He stared at her in amazement. Aeryn Sun advocating desertion? The shock alone brought his wayward thoughts to heel for a microt and he felt himself gain a small scrap of control. "I can't believe you just suggested that," he said with an amused smirk.

She didn't smile back, just shook her head. "Neither can I. If they caught you, you'd almost certainly be executed. And they probably would catch you eventually. Your other option is to simply tell the admiral 'no'. You said yourself that High Command required you to volunteer for this, and now I understand why. An assignment of this magnitude goes a bit beyond what is typically asked of a soldier, even a disruptor. Disobeying orders would usually earn summary execution, too, but I heard the admiral say there was another assignment for you if you turned this one down."

That reminder was like a bucket of ice water dumped over John's head. "No, you're right, killing me would be too easy for that bastard. He's got something much worse in mind. Frankly, Aeryn," he said, the coldness seeping into his voice, "I'd rather get executed for desertion."

"Worse? What could possibly be--"

"If I don't play ball, our beloved admiral will ship my ass off to Scorpius. That's how he forced me to agree to this in the first place."

Aeryn quirked her head sideways. "Why didn't you tell us that from the beginning, Crichton? I've been trying to figure out your reasons for monens!"

John looked down at his feet, and felt his fact grow warm. "I was...I guess I figured you'd think I was weak. I didn't want to agree, but Scorpius....he scares me, Aeryn."

He got to his feet again and went back to his frenetic pacing. "God, has it really come down to this? Choose the lesser evil -- spend the rest of my natural life here in this gilded cage, with a woman I don't even know, much less love, or go back to my worst nightmare."

"Scorpius might not be as bad this time, Crichton. You'd be a Peacekeeper officer, with rank and status to give you some protection you didn't have before."

John shuddered, hugging his arms around his body, and shook his head. "You didn't see him like I did, Aeryn. You didn't have to watch him dissect your mind bit by bit. You didn't see how his eyes lit up every time he found something about wormholes.

"He's a monster. He killed Gilina, shot her in cold blood, just because he suspected I might know her. He didn't even blink. He was _this_ close to driving me right over the edge, Aeryn. Hell, I'm starting to think he might have--"

"John," Aeryn cut in, but he didn't let her finish.

"No, damn it! I won't let them send me back so he can finish the job--anything's better than that." He paused and looked around, as if seeing the room for the first time. His voice became resigned, with no inflection. "Hell, even eighty cycles as a statue would be better. It's not like living among the Peacekeepers has been a whole lot of fun, anyway."

"You've wanted to leave for a long time," said Aeryn's voice from behind him. "Perhaps you _would_ be happier here."

He turned around; Aeryn's face was carefully neutral, revealing nothing. "Did you hear what I said about those eighty cycles as a statue? I want to go home, Aeryn, and I can't do that if I'm stuck here as a pigeon perch! Even if I found a way later, and assuming I'd be willing to leave behind a wife and possible children, everyone I know would be long dead by then. At least with the Peacekeepers I stand a chance of figuring things out sooner rather than later."

Aeryn's dark eyebrows drew together; she opened her mouth a few times then closed it without a sound, before she finally spoke. "John, do you really believe that High Command will just let you go after you figure out your wormholes? That technology has the potential to be an incredibly powerful weapon, one they wouldn't want to fall into the wrong hands. Not even the hands of a people as primitive as yours."

It was like a kick in the gut, hearing that. So obvious, now that she'd pointed it out, he should have realized it himself from the beginning. They'd never let him go. Hope was slipping away, doors closing on all sides.

"John," Aeryn said tentatively. "You may have to accept that you'll never find your way back to Earth. I would...miss you, if you stayed here, but you've never truly been comfortable among us. Maybe the life you're being offered here would...fit you better."

John couldn't find the words or the impetus to respond, adrift in a sea of bad choices and worse choices.

"It's late," Aeryn finally said to break the silence. "Get some sleep, and think about what I said."

He looked up at her eyes, seeing newborn compassion lurking there, and managed to nod. He reached up and grasped her hand in wordless thanks, and let go only reluctantly as she finally walked away.

* * *

Aeryn Sun's life had once been predictable, with one day following the next in orderly progression. Training, drills, duty assignments and recreation, orders and regulations dictating every action and every breath. Even battle had its rules and procedures, and was often so much like training in some ways that it was hard to remember which was which.

All that had started to change a cycle and half ago, the day she encountered a strange and primitive alien in a Leviathan prison cell.

Suddenly the rules that had defined her life were no longer absolute. Comfortable certainty had given way to questions and doubts; new and strange emotions left her constantly torn between fear and confusion. It was frightening, but she felt more alive now than she ever had in her life. It was as if she'd been trapped in a dark room, and Crichton had opened up a crack to let in a little light. The cracks were widening day after day as she woke from her grey existence.

Every day was a struggle now, to walk the fine line between her life as a loyal Peacekeeper officer, a role she'd always been proud to fill, and the newborn self forming within.

Three solar days ago, the Peacekeeper Aeryn Sun had encouraged John Crichton to follow orders and fulfill the duty he had agreed to undertake, albeit in ignorance. She'd convinced herself that it was what was best for the Peacekeepers, and for John as well.

Three days and four assassination attempts later, Aeryn Sun was seriously questioning that assumption.

The newly wedded royal couple was now safely crystallized in their governance statues for the next eighty cycles. But afterwards? Aeryn didn't think Prince Clavor's plotting would cease just because his sister was now the acknowledged empress-elect. And in eighty cycles, Aeryn wouldn't be here to protect John as she had been doing up until now.

The wedding itself had been surprisingly disturbing for Aeryn to watch. When the empress had asked those assembled if any 'had cause to sway the will of love', Aeryn had had to bite her lip. Love, she knew, had nothing to do with what she was witnessing.

Aeryn wandered into the refreshment house attached to the palace, at loose ends and looking for something to occupy herself while they waited. She and Tauvo would be heading back to Moya in two arns, and back to Peacekeeper space within the solar day.

It would be another long and tedious journey, and all the worse for the loss of one man. Aeryn could fill her days with duty and training with her team, but her off duty arns would be dull and monotonous without John's ready wit and incomprehensible humor.

In other words, life was about to return to normal, to what it had been for all the cycles of her life before the strange human fell into her world and turned everything sideways.

Stability. Order. Routine. A Peacekeeper found comfort in such things; they signified that all was well and right with the world. But Aeryn knew now that she could have more--_be_ more--and she didn't want to go back to the past.

_I don't want to lose John._

It wasn't until the couple walking behind her nearly ran her down that Aeryn noticed she'd come to a complete standstill at that revelation.

When had this happened? Transfers and reassignments were an accepted fact of Peacekeeper life; this was nothing she hadn't been through a hundred times before. So why did it feel so different? When had John Crichton stopped being merely an intriguing companion and become such an integral part of her life that she felt diminished by his loss?

Aeryn, seated alone at a table, had worked herself up to contemplating some very unlikely rescue scenarios when her thoughts were derailed by a sudden commotion from the door. A dozen Royal Paladins, the Empress' own security force, marched briskly into the room and spread out around the perimeter. Aeryn stiffened, sitting up straighter. Something was wrong.

One of the soldiers stepped into an open area near the center of the refreshment house and raised his voice to be heard by everyone. "By order of Empress Novia, all public gathering places in the palace are closed until further notice. Residents and employees of the royal household are requested to return to their homes when not on duty. All off-world guests are ordered confined to their quarters immediately, pending an official inquiry. Any off-worlder found wandering without escort will be placed under immediate arrest."

The patrons rose in near unison and began milling towards the exits, their muttered exclamations and queries rising quickly to a roar of excited and fearful voices. Aeryn left quickly and touched her comms once she was out of the worst of the crowd.

"Captain Jaran? This is Aeryn. Please respond." Their cover was still intact, so she was careful to avoid any reference to their true ranks.

The admiral's voice came back through her comm badge with no delay, almost as if he'd been waiting for her call. "Sun, report to my quarters immediately. We have a problem."

Aeryn changed course obediently, heading up another level to the quarters assigned to more important guests. Thinking back to her earlier reflections on Crichton, she muttered to herself, "Frelling right we have a problem."

The channel was still open, however, and the admiral heard the comment. "Ah, then you've already been informed. We will have to work together to locate Crichton's head before this entire situation spirals out of control."

It took three strides for the admiral's words to sink in. Aeryn stumbled to a halt, mouth gaping in disbelief. "Crichton's _what?_"

TBC...


	12. An Offer You Can't Refuse, part 2

**Episode**** 11 - An Offer You Can't Refuse, part 2  
**

_"You know, things never work out like you plan." - John Crichton_

_I've heard of chemical peels, but this is ridiculous_.

John had to laugh. If he didn't, if he couldn't, he thought he might start screaming and wouldn't be able to stop.

The acid lapped at his face as his decapitated head bobbed around in the vat. Odd that something so metal-like could float, but the crystallization process hadn't changed his body's weight or density.

He could hear the subtle fizzing as the acid slowly ate away at him, but couldn't feel it. It was disturbing, like a dentist's drill inside his skull with him paralyzed under a full-body Novocain shot. He could hear the rush of the tank's aeration bubbles and the rhythmic sounds of machinery all around him. He could still see, too, though the view from inside the tank was a bit limited.

_This is not how I imagined spending my honeymoon_.

Of course, a weeken ago he hadn't imagined being married at all; it was still something of a mystery to him how he'd managed to talk himself into that.

Oh, right, Scorpy. Scorpius or Katralla...some choice.

Scorpius was a specter, even all these months after the fact, lurking in John's nightmares, and blinking in and out of the corner of his eye even during the day. Sometimes, in the dark, wakeful hours of the sleep cycle, he even thought he could hear the monster's voice. He tried to convince himself it was just stress, the constant low-grade fear that haunted his life these days. But lately he'd been getting worried.

A Scarran half-breed, ugly as a corpse three weeks dead and with a personality to match, or a beautiful woman who was nearly as unhappy with her choices as he was. It hadn't been a difficult decision, once he'd thought of it in those terms.

As he'd gotten to know his future bride in the few days before their shotgun wedding, he'd found a sympathetic ear; they had a lot in common. Katralla was as much a pawn in her mother's hands as John was in the admiral's, but her duty, her destiny as she saw it, was to lead her people, protect them from the horrors her brother's whims would inflict. She was giving up the man she loved and the freedom she craved to follow that destiny. All John had to give up was his hope.

So he'd proposed, and the princess had accepted. And if her smile had looked more like relief than joy, well, that was understandable. John's own expression had been more like resignation.

But when Katralla had shown him the image, as real and as tangible as life, of what their future child might someday be, that had started to change. Seeing that tiny face, those tiny hands, John had smiled through his tears and felt his doubts fade. He had lost a lover and a child when Gilina died. The passage of time had only just begun to heal those wounds, but now, perhaps, he was getting a second chance.

Everyone seemed overjoyed when the engagement was announced, from the empress and the admiral all the way down to the citizens on the streets below the palace walls. Everyone, that is, except Prince Clavor and his cronies.

The first assassination attempt had caught everyone by surprise, and it had seemed like pure luck that Clavor's erstwhile fiancée had happened by just in time to interrupt the attack. He'd been in shock, reeling from the adrenaline and the after-effects of whatever kind of weapon they'd tried to use, and had only barely managed a coherent response to Jenavian Chatto's queries. That she was the disruptor agent the admiral had mentioned in passing was less of a shock; he'd recognized some of her fighting techniques.

The incident had set him off once again, to the point that he went to the admiral and threatened to back out of the entire deal. It took another reminder of the alternative--Scorpius--and a promise of protection before he calmed down and resumed the role he'd agreed to portray. From that moment on, until the wedding ceremony, either Tauvo or Aeryn was with John at all times.

No one had mentioned anything about the attack to the empress. To do so would have risked revealing Jenavian Chatto as a Peacekeeper disruptor. Besides, given that the likely instigator of the attack was her own son, Novia was unlikely to take any effective action.

There had been at least three more attempts on his life, all close calls but averted with his friends' help. It was only after the wedding, when he'd stood under that frelling machine and felt his body turn to stone, that John had finally felt safe. It hurt like hell, but for the next eighty cycles he felt like nothing could touch him.

He'd fallen asleep that night in the dark and silent senate chamber--his mind still requiring rest even when his body was frozen. When he woke, it was to a ringing sound in his ears. He was disoriented, panicked at first because he couldn't move, but then remembered where he was. Seeing his new brother-in-law standing inches away, shaking his hand in pain, John realized the sound that had roused him was his own crystalline structure resonating in response to Clavor's imprudent punch.

Distracted by the sheer novelty of his own body ringing like a bell, John hadn't seen the Scarran ambassador stalking up behind him, and only realized something was wrong when his vision spun wildly and he found himself staring up into Clavor's ugly, smirking face.

And now, here he was: his head and the consciousness contained within dissolving slowly in a powerful industrial acid, his decapitated body still standing at his wife's side somewhere up in the palace. Clavor had said something about putting broken statues back together, but John just couldn't quite make himself believe that getting his head cut off wasn't fatal.

_All the King's horses and all the King's men...._

He wondered how long it would take for the acid to eat through to the delicate crystalline circuitry of his brain, and at what point the system would crash like a Windows machine under the assault.

It wasn't the dying part that bothered him so much—John had lived an exciting life full of risk, so dying of old age had never been the likeliest outcome—it was having so much time to think about it. The dread and sheer tedium of waiting wore on him after a while, until he almost wished the whole thing would just be over and done with.

The only bright point was the lack of pain, but other than that he couldn't think of much about this situation that could get worse.

On the heels of that thought came a splash and the clink of metal on metal. He was lifted out of the acid and flung to crash and roll across the floor, so hard that he wondered if his face was dented.

There was a flush of relief at the apparent rescue, which instantly transformed into horror at the sight of his rescuer.

"It appears that my arrival is most fortunately timed, wouldn't you agree Crichton?" Scorpius leered as he turned John's head over in his hands, examining it. "I just recently learned of Special Directorate's plans for you. I will not allow them to squander the valuable information contained in your mind on such a pointless endeavor."

John wasn't listening. He wasn't even wondering how the hell Scorpy had gotten here, or how he'd found one dismembered head in the Royal Planet's biggest haystack. He wasn't thinking at all.

Paralyzing, mind-numbing terror had invaded John's consciousness the instant he saw Scorpius, and while there were none of the physical symptoms--no racing heart, no sweaty palms, no clenching gut--the fear was no less real and debilitating. He'd had nightmares like this since the Gammak base: pinned down, paralyzed, while the monster that had come to personify evil in his mind prepared to torment him yet again. Unable to run, unable to fight, unable to even die to escape the pain.

Scorpius was going to make John disappear, and would rip his mind to shreds until he got what he wanted. John's friends would never know what had become of him. His family would never learn of his survival and his adventures. Katralla would lose her throne and her hopes of having children, and the Royal Planet would someday lie in ruins due to the fawning stupidity of Clavor and the brutality of his Scarran friends.

And John Crichton would live on, as a tool, a trophy, or a pet, for as long as it amused Scorpy to keep him around. In his current state, he knew, he might well survive for centuries, though he doubted his sanity would last very long at all.

He could feel it slipping away even now. He'd been walking the ragged edge for months, between the raging grief and lingering depression due to Gilina's murder--feelings he hadn't been able to talk about with anyone--and the voices that had begun haunting his waking hours as well as his sleep. It wouldn't take much to tip him over that last precipice. And really, would that be so bad? It could be his single option to escape this looming horror of reality.

As he plunged into the darkness of the bag Scorpius put him in, John felt himself start to let go. He found himself picturing a beach, with blue sky, white sand, and blue-green water. He imagined the heat and gritty texture of the sand between his toes. The salt smell of the ocean. The cry of gulls.

_*Stop this foolishness, John. You cannot escape.*_

It was the voice of his nightmares, trying to distract him. It had started small, like his own conscience whispering in his ear, but it was growing louder and sounding more and more like Scorpius every day. It was the voice that had told him to stop drinking his nights away on the carrier, and to stop provoking fights he could only lose with his more xenophobic fellow grots. It was the voice that had urged him to get up and go to his lab every morning those last few weekens, when he had nearly given up hope of ever cracking the wormhole problem.

In the last few weekens, he'd noticed, the suggestions had started to sound like orders, and had become difficult if not impossible to disregard. It had done little to inspire John with confidence about his sanity. But now, he found, he could ignore the voice and feel no compulsion to obey. It jabbered on, growing more desperate and strident, but he pushed it aside and dove deeper into his own inner vision.

A perfect blue sky, and a yellow sun that warmed without burning. He was building his own perfect Earth, and all he lacked was someone to share it with. He thought of Gilina, but couldn't seem to conjure her up.

Time passed unnoticed as he painstakingly built his new world. Eventually he heard other voices calling his name, but he ignored them. He was safe here, and if he couldn't go home, then this would be the next best thing. If he managed to burrow deep enough, maybe Scorpy would never find him.

* * *

Aeryn scanned the dark, dingy stairwell, panning her pulse rifle across her entire field of view as she confirmed that no one was there. At her signal, Lt. Crais moved past her and down the stairs to the first landing. His steps were not quite so silent as hers--he was a Prowler pilot, first and foremost, and didn't have the benefit of Aeryn's recent, rigorous training--but there was enough ambient noise at these levels that it wouldn't matter. Pausing, he scanned the next segment before repeating her gesture, and the cycle began again.

They had ventured deep into the bowels of the palace in just this manner, avoiding detection and searching for any signs of the Scarran or Prince Clavor--by far the most likely suspects in the defacement of the new Regent's statue and the theft of said statue's head.

It felt good to finally have a weapon back in her hands, Aeryn realized. The past weeken of playing a non-threatening civilian had left her with an almost subliminal itch at the back of her brain, a constant awareness that something was missing, that she was vulnerable.

The weapons had arrived with the rest of her team; when the admiral sent the emergency signal to Moya, the two commandos had descended in one of Moya's pods and landed outside the city. To avoid detection, they had used a blind spot in the Royal Planet's security grid that Jenavian Chatto had created monens before as part of her own escape route.

Aqida and Leyn were searching together, much as Aeryn and Tauvo were, in another part of the palace's warren of sublevels and service corridors. In spite of the dire warnings given to off-world visitors, avoiding the Empress' security was quite easy; they were quite fully occupied with the investigation they were mis-conducting and didn't have personnel to spare on patrols of the lesser corridors. It was hardly their fault, though, that the Empress refused to let them consider the most likely suspect, her own son.

At the bottom of the stairs, Aeryn and Tauvo took up positions at the closed door. At a nod from Aeryn, who was crouched low to one side, Tauvo pushed the access door open quickly. She spun into the opening, her weapon leading the way as she scanned for targets, while Tauvo stood above her with his own rifle pointed over her shoulder in the other direction.

There was no one visible, but Aeryn flinched at the blast of heat and noise that hit them full in the face. An overpowering stench of lubricants and chemicals permeated the stifling air.

Five levels below ground, this was the industrial underbelly of the palace. Furnaces, acid tanks, and a variety of less identifiable equipment filled the area. The heat alone made it seem an ideal hiding place for a Scarran on the run, though it wasn't really hot enough to be dangerous. It couldn't be, after all; the workers were all Sebacean.

Aeryn and Tauvo glanced at each other in dismay. The area was huge, rivaling a command carrier's generator room in sheer volume, but with interior walls, dense pipe work, and heavy machinery creating abundant blind spots and hiding places. Heavy chains and hooks used to shift materials and equipment dangled across every path, making stealthy progress nearly impossible. If she were the Scarran, Aeryn thought, she'd have chosen this place to hide. It was perfect. Finding anything in this labyrinth, especially something that didn't want to be found, was going to be incredibly difficult.

But they were Peacekeepers, after all, and could not allow a minor impediment like unfavorable circumstances to affect the mission. Choosing a direction at random, they resumed their leapfrog search pattern and kept every sense primed for action.

The pair of commandos had progressed less than a quarter metra when the sharp sound of an energy weapon froze them in place. One shot, then three more in quick succession, coming from somewhere off to their left.

Without need for discussion, Aeryn and Tauvo changed direction towards the sound. They moved with greater speed now, but also with a heightened wariness. Weapons fire indicated the existence of a real threat, but it also meant that their quarry might be distracted by some internal dispute.

After a hundred microts of slow and steady progress, Aeryn heard the rattle of chains and the patter of a light, quick step on wet pavement from somewhere up ahead. With a swift gesture, she sent both herself and Crais into swift concealment; suddenly, the terrain was to their advantage, rather than the reverse.

The steps grew closer, and a shadow flitted across the floor at Aeryn's feet. An instant before she moved out to face it, their quarry sensed something amiss and paused. When their eyes met, it was two primed soldiers staring at each other across the barrels of loaded weapons. Recognition was swift.

"Chatto," Aeryn greeted warily, not lowering her guard. Crais stepped out of the shadows on the other side of the disruptor, his rifle also held ready. "What are you doing down here?"

Chatto held up a cloth sack holding something large and obviously heavy. "Retrieving our new Regent." She unwrapped the object to show the statue's missing head.

"Crichton," Aeryn breathed in recognition and relief. John's features were still frozen in a grimace of pain, a sight that was somehow far more disturbing under these circumstances. "Is he all right?" she asked the disruptor.

"A bit of minor surface pitting--I think someone dumped him in an acid tank for a while--but the machine can compensate for that."

"And you're sure this...condition...is not fatal?"

Chatto nodded. "Yes, as long as the fragments are aligned correctly, the process will rejoin them with no difficulty." She tilted her head to one side, looking suspicious of Aeryn's atypical concern.

Tauvo nodded and cleared his throat, breaking the tension between the two women. "We should get back up to the palace, then, and reanimate Crichton, before we're caught and accused of beheading him in the first place."

Aeryn managed to tear her eyes away and nodded. The details of the retrieval could wait until John was there to join the discussion. Chatto rewrapped her burden and the three headed back the way they had come. The disruptor, having been resident of these halls for far longer than the rest of them, led them through some back service corridors where they only encountered a few servants. With the prince's consort acting as their guide, they were not questioned.

It wasn't until they arrived at last in the chamber where the crystallizing machine and Crichton's beheaded body were sequestered that they encountered a problem. Aeryn went directly to the comms device that allowed the royal couple to communicate during their eighty-cycle tenure as governance statues.

"Crichton?" she called, putting the device to her ear, but all she heard was silence.

"Is this working?" Aeryn demanded, turning to Chatto.

The disruptor checked the settings on the machine, and nodded. "He should still be able to speak, even in this condition. Perhaps he fell asleep?"

Aeryn shook her head, dismissing the idea. She couldn't picture anyone in John's situation being calm enough to sleep, no matter how exhausted he might be from the day's events. She held the receiver to her ear once again, as Chatto and Crais lifted John's head into place and turned it until it nestled firmly in its original position on his neck. "Crichton, answer me," she ordered firmly. Still there was only silence from the comms. More quietly, hoping he could hear even if he couldn't speak, Aeryn murmured, "John, we're going to revitalize you now. You'll be fine."

Chatto stepped back and flipped the switch; it was the previous day's ceremony in reverse this time, as the dark metal surface glowed and faded into fair skin, brown hair, and the rose and red of his wedding outfit. Within microts, the human stood before them whole and living again.

For a moment there was no movement, his body still held by the induced rigor of the metallization process, showing no sign of consciousness. Then, slowly, one muscle after another began to relax and he slumped to the floor.

All three of them had been waiting for him to open his eyes; when he began to collapse, instead, Aeryn rushed forward. She managed to catch him just in time to keep his head from hitting the ground, and gently laid him down. She reached out and touched his face, but there was no response, not even a flicker of awareness. The skin was warm and smooth, though, living flesh, and the pulse at his throat was fast and strong.

Crais knelt down next to Aeryn and placed a hand on John's chest to feel the heartbeat for himself. "What's wrong with him, Chatto?" he demanded over his shoulder.

Completely unflustered, the disruptor retrieved a scanner from a nearby cabinet and ran it over the human's inert form. "Physically, nothing. The pieces meshed perfectly; there's no sign of any misalignment. He's perfectly healthy. I can't explain why he's not responding. Perhaps it's a psychological aberration? He's not Sebacean, after all, just a lesser species."

Aeryn started to turn, ready to rip into the arrogant tralk, but just then John's face twitched. She stopped and put her hand on his cheek again; Chatto could wait. "John?" she called, searching for some further sign of life. When nothing happened, she tried a light slap on the cheek. "Crichton, wake up! Snap out of it!"

There was another muscle twitch, and then John's head jerked to one side, as if he was fighting off a nightmare in his sleep. Aeryn slapped him again, harder this time.

The response, however, was not what she'd expected. Eyes still closed, John struck out blindly with both arms, catching both Aeryn and Tauvo unprepared and sending them sprawling. "Get off me you leatherfaced son of a bitch!" he screamed, arms still flailing wildly at nothing.

It took both of them to wrestle the delusional human back down as he continued to shout insults and denials at the air, fighting against some enemy only he could see. Jena stood back, watching the proceedings with professional detachment. When they had him pinned at last, still struggling, Aeryn tried calling one more time, her voice harsh and desperate with worry. "John? It's Aeryn. You're safe. Wake up, John. Wake up!"

* * *

John didn't know how long he'd been here. Maybe an hour, maybe a week; the beach was timeless. Peaceful.

Lonely.

Perfection of sand and sky, wind and water was in his grasp. It was Earth, but better. No dead fish or rotting seaweed at the tide-line. No broken shells to cut his feet. Not a cloud in the sky, and the breeze was cool without being chilling. But the people.... For some reason, he couldn't seem to create anything but flat, cardboard characters to share his paradise with him. He'd conjured images of everyone he could think of, but none of them had that spark that made them real.

_*John, stop this childishness.*_

The voice had been whispering to him constantly, almost inaudible here in this far corner of his mind, but now it suddenly had strength again. John felt the pull, drawing him away from his haven.

"No! Get out of my head, you freak!" He shook his head and concentrated, holding onto the beach with every ounce of mental strength. But suddenly, it was no longer just a voice.

Black leather and pasty flesh, the monster of his nightmares invaded his sanctuary and gazed at him with eyes full of contempt. _*You cannot escape me, Crichton. This behavior is unacceptable.*_

"Frell off, Nosferatu! I'm not going back, and there's nothing you can do about it." He turned away, intent on putting distance between them, but the vise-like grip of a leather glove around his throat dragged him to a halt.

_*Incorrect. You will leave this place, now!*_

Despite all of John's efforts, the beach started to swirl away as if it were being sucked down a drain, leaving him dizzy and disoriented and feeling a painful sense of loss. He struck out, fighting the restraining grip. "Get off me you leatherfaced son of a bitch!" he screamed.

The half-breed vanished along with the sun and sand, but strong hands still gripped him, held him down as his vision faded into darkness. He struggled harder, trying to escape, though to what or where he was no longer sure.

"John!" It was a different voice, now. Familiar. Welcome. "You're safe! Wake up, John. Wake up!"

Suddenly he opened his eyes--his real eyes, flesh and blood--to see the lovely Aeryn Sun looking down at him with worry creasing her forehead. Tauvo was hunched over him on the opposite side, his own concern more shuttered but still visible. John turned his head, and was relieved to note that it was firmly attached. It had all just been a nightmare, then.

_Thank God_.

Or maybe not, if the dreams were getting so much worse...maybe he really was losing it.

_No, don't think about that._

The more pressing question at the moment was why he wasn't a statue anymore--or had that been part of the dream, too?--and why he was lying on the floor with his friends hovering over him.

It took three tries to push a voice through the lump that was still lodged in his throat from the wedding. "Wh...wha' happen'd?"

Aeryn spoke first. "We rescued you from the Scarran that stole your head, and brought it here to make you whole again."

All right, John thought, so the beheading had been real. He could cope with that. "That part I remember. Cargn and his pet prince Clavor. Bastards. Dumped me in the acid."

Tauvo nodded. "So we assumed. With your testimony, though, the empress will have no choice but to act. Once the Scarran is executed and Clavor is either imprisoned or banished--I don't expect Novia to actually have him executed, no matter what crimes he's committed--you'll be safe again."

Aeryn still looked worried. "John, when we first reanimated you, you weren't responding, and we couldn't wake you." It wasn't a question, but it invited at least an attempt at explanation.

"I guess I must have passed out in the acid tank and started hallucinating. Sensory deprivation can do that to humans. I had some horrible nightmares about Scorpius...." He decided not to go into the gory details, though they were still vivid in his memory. No need to broadcast the depths of his secret fears.

But then another person spoke from somewhere out of John's line of sight. "Scorpius? Of course, that makes sense now...."

"Jena?" John called out, recognizing the voice.

Tauvo nodded, turning as the disruptor appeared over his shoulder. "Chatto was the one who found you, Crichton, and rescued you from the Scarran."

Jenavian shook her head. "It wasn't the Scarran I found. It was someone else, someone I didn't know.

"When I went to meet the Leviathan transport outside the city, I noticed three life signs aboard when I scanned the ship, though only the two commandos were supposed to be aboard. I didn't mention it, and neither did they, but once I had escorted them to the palace, I returned to the transport and started tracking the third life sign. I finally caught up with him in the foundry area; he'd found Crichton's head and was apparently about to leave with it. Since he wasn't part of my brief, I disabled him and retrieved Crichton."

At their shocked stares, the disruptor just shrugged. "It makes sense now that it was Scorpius. I'm assuming he wasn't originally part of your complement?" Tauvo and Aeryn shook their heads in unison.

John just lay there, frozen.

"He must have arrived later, then, using a stealthed ship, and convinced your team to let him aboard. Scorpius has enough rank and a high enough clearance level that he probably ordered your commandos to allow him onto their transport and tell no one of his presence. The admiral could have overridden those orders, but since he probably isn't aware that Scorpius is here, he'd have no reason to ask."

Aeryn still had her hand on John's shoulder, so she was the first to notice when he started shaking. She turned to see his staring, panicked eyes and her own eyes widened in concern.

"No. Nononononono..." he whispered. "That wasn't real. How could he be here?"

Jena shrugged casually. "I don't know, but from what little I could overhear, he seemed unusually intent on acquiring _you_, though what you could possibly have to interest _him_...."

John managed a harsh laugh as he struggled to his feet. Aeryn reached to help him, but he shrugged her off, impatient with his own infirmity and not in the mood to accept help. "No need to be jealous, Jena," he shot back. "He only loves me for my mind. You didn't happen to kill him, did you?"

Jenavian raised an eyebrow at the hopeful question. "No, it wasn't necessary. Besides, leaving bodies lying around draws too much attention; people start looking for a killer. Now that he's failed to retrieve you, and knows we'll be on the lookout for him, Scorpius will likely just return to Moya and depart the way he came."

John was staggering across the room, using walls and tabletops to support his unsteady legs. At that statement, though, he spun around to face Jena, flabbergasted. "What, you think the bastard came all this way just to give up now? You really don't know him at all, do you?"

"John," Aeryn broke in, using her most soothing--or perhaps patronizing--tone. "Once we tell the empress about what happened, she'll be able to protect you, even from Scorpius."

John shook his head, almost falling over as the motion threw his balance off. He grabbed a nearby pillar for support. "You don't get it...Scorpius did not come all this way with the sole intention of plucking my dismembered head out of an acid bath. He was simply taking advantage of the opportunity. Trust me, that Scarran half-breed had a plan for getting me away from the empress. Probably with her full cooperation."

Tauvo spoke up this time. "You are a member of the Royal family now, Crichton, and the heir to the Regent's throne. The empress isn't about to simply hand you over to someone who asks."

John leaned his head into his hands, exasperated by his companions' blindness. Wearily, without raising his head, he spelled out his suspicions. "What do you think the empress would do, guys, if she somehow found out we were Peacekeepers? I'll bet you that's Scorpy's plan--blow the mission by blowing our cover, and when the empress kicks us off the planet, he'll be there to grab me. Hell, the admiral will probably just hand me over, since I'll be of no further use to _him._"

Aeryn didn't react to John's accusation, but Tauvo and Jena were both aghast.

"He wouldn't--"

"No officer would ever--"

"How dare you--"

"Crichton, be reasonable--"

They talked over each other in their rush to contradict him, to defend the honor of a fellow Peacekeeper. As if any of their precious notions were relevant to the Scarran half-breed.

"Bullshit." John's simple reply brought the arguments to a screeching halt. "Aeryn, you've seen Scorpius. You know what he's capable of."

She nodded.

John turned back to address the doubters. "The bastard thought nothing of killing an innocent tech to force me to tell him something I didn't know. Hell, he'd probably have killed all six of them if that had been what it took. Jena, you may have heard more of what Scorpy said downstairs earlier than I did, but I did get the impression that he thinks our mission here is a waste of time."

The objection from Tauvo was more subdued this time. "That may be true, Crichton. I'm not familiar with the details of Scorpius' service record, but I know this: he may have been high ranking enough to defy the captain and get away with it, but he would never dare challenge an admiral."

John thought about that; it was a good point. Scorpy had seemed smarter than that. "Maybe he doesn't know the admiral's here. Hell, I'm surprised the old boy came all the way out here personally, too. Or maybe Scorpy's got a way to pull the strings so that the admiral can't pin anything on him when it's over. I dunno. All I do know is that I am outta here." More steadily now, but still weaving slightly, John walked towards the exit without another word.

He made it halfway to the door before any of them found a voice.

"Crichton, where do you think you're going?" Jena demanded, stepping between him and the door.

"Out," he replied tersely. Ignoring her attempt to block the exit, John started to shove past the disruptor.

She grabbed his arm in a vise grip, her fingers leaving bruises. "Are you wavering?" Her tone was dark, and her whole bearing coiled like a cobra with hood flared.

John, however, ignored the blatant threat staring him down and laughed. "Wavering? Lady, I am throwing in the towel, folding my hand, and heading for the showers. I am washing my hands of you, this planet, and this whole pathetic excuse for a life that I've been forced to swallow for the past cycle and a half. See ya 'round; it's been real." He broke Jena's iron grip with a textbook-perfect reverse twist and turned away.

Faster than lightning, John found himself slammed up against the wall, seeing stars, with Jena's arm threatening to cut off the blood to his brain. "If you endanger this mission," she hissed, "I will not hesitate to kill you."

John didn't struggle, just gazed calmly at her sharp-featured face. "Still better...than Scorpy," he managed to rasp out past the weight on his throat. His eyes didn't waver from hers, even when she increased the pressure.

Aeryn appeared at Jena's elbow at that point and yanked her away. John sagged against the wall and sucked in huge breaths.

"He's going to frell the entire mission!" the disruptor protested, turning to Aeryn with fists clenched.

"He _is_ the mission." That simple statement brought Jena to a brief standstill.

Aeryn turned to John. "Where do you think you can go?"

"Somewhere else. The Barren Lands, maybe. Steal a ship. Doesn't matter." He turned back to the door and stumbled through.

"John." Aeryn reached after him and grasped his arm gently, not truly restraining him, simply...requesting. He paused but didn't turn. "We'll find a way to fix this," she promised.

John's shoulders slumped slightly. He knew running was pointless, but it was all he had left. He needed the motion, to feel like he was in control of his fate. He couldn't go back to being a statue; the sheer helplessness of that paralyzed state gave him chills. And if he refused, he would just get himself handed to Scorpy that much faster. What was left?

He covered Aeryn's hand with his own and gave a single, grateful squeeze, then pulled gently away and continued out the door.

He could hear the argument start up again the microt he was out of sight. "What the frell do you think you're doing?!" Chatto demanded. John paused; as much as he needed to go, he didn't want Aeryn and Tauvo catching hell for it.

"Giving Crichton a few microts to cool off and think," was Aeryn's unperturbed reply.

Tauvo spoke up as well. "What he has been through in the last few solar days would rattle even the hardest Peacekeeper soldier."

Gratified by the support, and reassured that his friends could take care of themselves, John continued down the corridor and away. Before he turned the corner, he heard Tauvo say, "We need to go inform the admiral."

John was almost sorry he would miss seeing the expression on the old boy's face.

* * *

Officer Sun stood straight, chin up and eyes locked, half a step behind and to one side of the admiral's shoulder as he explained their identity and true intentions to the irate empress. Councilor Tyno stood next to his sovereign in a mirror image of Aeryn's stance, impeccable as always in his white robes. His eyes were shadowed with hidden grief, but his expression was firm and determined to carry on regardless.

Behind Aeryn's stoic, expressionless mask her mind whirled with emotion. It was a commonly accepted fact that Peacekeepers hadn't worshipped or even believed in gods or other supernatural creatures for many hundreds of cycles, and there were only whispered myths of earlier beliefs. Standing here, however, unarmed and defenseless under the gimlet eye of an extremely angry monarch, Aeryn was starting to wonder if she hadn't somehow offended one or more of those supposedly nonexistent beings. How else to explain ending up in this totally frelled situation?

She'd always known that her fate, like the fate of every Peacekeeper soldier, would be to die in the performance of her duty. That fate, it seemed, was now upon her, and Aeryn simply wished that she still had a pulse rifle in her hands, or the controls of her old Prowler. She would much prefer to go down fighting rather than be summarily executed like a substandard recruit.

"Give me one single reason why I should not have you all disemboweled where you stand!" The sheer intensity of the empress' rage finally drew Aeryn's attention back to situation before her.

The admiral, however, seemed unmoved by the outburst. "Aside from the distressing mess it would make of this quite lovely audience chamber? Your daughter would remain childless, your son would inherit your throne, and your empire would be conquered and decimated within a century."

The proud woman stood eye to eye with the admiral, seething silently. Her glare could have pierced a Dreadnought's armor.

"Empress," the admiral continued in a more conciliatory tone, "the Royal Colonies have been at odds with the Peacekeepers for over 1,800 cycles. The issues that divide us are long-established, and we understand that your feelings towards us have not changed. Your situation, however, _has_ changed, and on one subject, I believe, you will agree that your interests and ours coincide. Neither of us wishes to see your empire fall to the Scarrans."

"How we conduct the affairs of our monarchy is none of the Peacekeepers' concern!" The empress' voice grew more strident with every word. "We will not be dictated to!"

The admiral, however, remained firmly calm and rational. "Which was the reason for our subterfuge, Empress. When we discovered that John Crichton was potentially compatible with your daughter's poisoned DNA, we knew we had possibly the only solution to your dilemma, but we also knew you would refuse any offer of assistance we made out of hand."

"So you would have me believe that you, a _Peacekeeper_, came here for utterly altruistic motives? I am sorry, but I learned my history lessons far too well to believe that."

"Not altruism, Empress. It is as much in our interest for this empire to remain independent of the Scarrans as it is in yours."

The empress' suspicious expression turned more thoughtful, and she turned away to start pacing across the room.

Just at that moment, one of the Paladins stepped into the room. He bowed silently to his empress, then approached Councilor Tyno and whispered urgently in his ear. Tyno frowned, then nodded. "Empress," he said, turning to Novia, "with your permission, there is a matter which requires my attention."

The empress nodded and waved him away distractedly.

As the younger man trotted out of the room at the guard's heels, Novia turned back to the admiral. "So, you think to provide me with a successor and an heir through your pawn. And what is the price for this act of Peacekeeper charity? I suppose you are proposing some sort of alliance? You must realize that such a pact, even if we were willing to consider it, would instantly trigger a Scarran attack."

"Empress, there is no price. Both of our governments benefit from this arrangement. And while we would be pleased if you _were_ to ally with us, we do understand the probable consequences. That being the case, your continued neutrality is an acceptable compromise. Your empire's presence here prevents the Scarrans from making inroads into the Uncharted Territories, and thus guards our borders in this direction from attack."

The woman facing them finally seemed to bow to the logic of that, but still did not back down. "Regardless of your intentions, for good or ill, my people will never accept a Peacekeeper as their regent. We would have a civil war on our hands within a matter of solar days!"

The admiral stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and his opposite number and leaving Aeryn standing alone. She stayed where she was. "There is no need for that information to ever leave this room, Empress. That was the reason that I asked to meet with you alone. My mission here was known to only a few within Peacekeeper Command; even Crichton and the rest of my team did not know until after the fact. There would be no need for anyone to be informed of Crichton's identity, as long as the Royal Colonies maintain their neutrality."

The empress whirled. "Is that a threat?" she queried, eyes narrowing dangerously.

Aeryn expected the admiral to immediately deny it, but he surprised her. "If you wish to view it as such, Empress, that is your prerogative. It is simply a condition for our continued silence. But with that condition comes a promise, directly from the Peacekeeper Council. Even in the event of open warfare between the Peacekeepers and the Scarrans, our forces will not violate your borders, nor interfere in your empire's affairs, without specific invitation so long as you neither make pacts with nor give aid to the Scarran Imperium."

There was another long silence as the empress stared at a point high on the wall; Aeryn could almost see the woman's mind churning through options and possibilities as fast as a Prowler pilot in a dogfight.

"You are correct," she finally admitted, "when you note that our options were few before your arrival. By the laws of our empire and long tradition, Clavor would have ascended the throne had John Crichton not arrived when he did. Loathe as I am to be obliged to a Peacekeeper, I cannot deny my gratitude for that boon.

"What you ask in return is no more than I would have done anyway, nor other than Katralla shall do when she rules in my place. I have little choice but to accept John Crichton as my daughter's husband and my empire's regent, yet I quail at the thought of placing a Peacekeeper officer in such a position of power. How, I wonder, would he be different from Clavor? Will he invite the Peacekeepers in at his first opportunity?"

Aeryn found herself shaking her head, even as the admiral voiced her thoughts. "Your fears are groundless, Empress. You have seen yourself that Crichton is not Sebacean, and not your typical Peacekeeper. He was inducted into the ranks less than a cycle ago on a special dispensation for his potential scientific contributions. His allegiances at the moment are still to his home world, along with certain personal connections, rather than to Peacekeeper Command."

Aeryn was surprised at how well the admiral seemed to know the human, even though he had barely spoken to John in all the monens of their voyage here. That perspicacity of observation must be yet another aspect of his old disruptor training.

There was a small sound just then as Councilor Tyno reappeared at the entry and cleared his throat. "Your pardon for the interruption, Empress," he said.

"What is it, Councilor?" Her voice was sharp with impatience.

"We are receiving a signal from someone named Scorpius." There was a sharp hiss of indrawn breath from the admiral; Novia glanced over at him with narrowed eyes, but did not interrupt Tyno. The councilor continued. "He is quite persistent, and claims to have vital information regarding the succession. He refuses to divulge it to anyone except you, Empress."

The admiral swore violently. "I will have his head for this treachery!"

Novia raised a single eyebrow, unfazed by the vehemence. "You know this...person?"

The admiral took a deep, calming breath and nodded. "He is the reason I approached you now, Empress, rather than waiting for a more opportune time." Though his voice was cool once again, the old man's rage was still palpable. "He is a Scarran hybrid...and a Peacekeeper, though it shames me to admit that in this situation. My subordinates discovered Scorpius' unauthorized presence on your planet during their search, and were suspicious of his intentions."

"He is working for the Scarrans?"

The admiral shook his head in apparent consternation. "I suppose it's possible; he's part Scarran himself, after all, and may still have contacts from his time among them."

Aeryn hadn't thought she'd moved or made a sound, but something drew the Empress' attention to her. Smooth and silent, the woman crossed the room and gazed into her face with regal intensity. "Why is Scorpius here, Officer Sun?"

She froze, unable to look away. Duty demanded that she hold her tongue rather than openly contradict her superior officer. But duty stood mute next to her burgeoning conscience, which insisted that she do what she could to help protect John, both from Scorpius and from the Empress' anger. She'd promised him.

Fortunately, since she had been specifically addressed, by the letter of her orders she was free to speak.

"Crichton was temporarily assigned to a project at a remote base about half a cycle ago," she said, wording her statement carefully to avoid revealing anything sensitive, like the location of the base or the research conducted there. "Scorpius was head of the project. He discovered that Crichton was not Sebacean, had him arrested and...interrogated him. Scorpius seemed to believe that John possessed some important information, and went so far as to have a tech John cared about killed before his eyes in an attempt to make him reveal it. After Crichton was rescued and returned to our carrier, Scorpius made repeated attempts to have him transferred back."

The empress listened without comment or expression. "And you believe that he is here for Crichton?"

Aeryn nodded, then looked down at the toes of her boots. "John did not come here willingly, Empress, nor did he intend to deceive you; he accepted the assignment in complete ignorance of its purpose, because it was the only way to avoid a transfer back to Scorpius. If you choose to punish us, I ask that you at least spare him. He is innocent. And please, whatever you do, don't hand him over to Scorpius."

The empress listened dispassionately and without comment, then turned to Tyno. "Where does the message originate?"

"The signal appears to be from a small Peacekeeper vessel which is holding position just outside the range of our border defenses."

Turning back to Aeryn. "And yet you claim to have encountered this person within the palace itself?"

She nodded. "Less than two arns ago."

The admiral broke in, saying, "Scorpius is obviously using that ship to relay a transmission from here on the planet's surface, in order to conceal his true location."

Novia's reply was uncharacteristically sarcastic. "Obviously." She then turned to Tyno. "I will take the call in my private office, Councilor. In the meantime, have security trace the transmission further, if it is indeed a relay."

The young man nodded and bowed briskly, then disappeared back down the corridor.

The admiral was aghast. "Empress! You must not consider any dealings with this man! He is a traitor; obviously he cannot be trusted."

Novia pierced him with her most haughty glare. "Only a traitor to you, _Admiral_," she pointed out, spitting out his title like a curse. "And as one who has admitted lying to _me_ from the microt you set foot inside my empire, you are hardly in a position to criticize anyone else's honesty. I will judge for myself."

"But Empress--"

"Silence!" The shouted order echoed in the large chamber, and even the hard-headed admiral was startled into obedience. "Take care, sir, that you do not destroy what progress you have already made here. I _will _speak to him, and I will listen to what he has to say. Only then will I make my decision. Is that clear?"

The admiral seethed, but nodded.

"Remain here." With that terse order, Novia swept out of the room.

* * *

The midmorning sun flickered through the leafy canopy, warming John's face. He was wending his way slowly through the open woodland that made up the greater portion of the palace gardens, having given up trying to leave the grounds. The entrances were simply too heavily guarded, and there would be no way for him to BS his way through in his rose and red wedding outfit. It was all he had to wear, though; he'd gone back to his old quarters to change, but what few possessions he'd brought down to the surface with him had already been packed up and stored away for the next eighty cycles by the hyper-efficient servant, Ro-Na.

There was a comforting familiarity here among the green trees, a feeling of solitude even with the palace at his back and a whole city thronging less than a metra away on the other side of the walls.

But even as the peace and quiet here soothed John's tired body, it could not stop his thoughts from raging out of control. He walked randomly, all but blind to the beauty surrounding him, wracking his brain for a way out of his hopeless _Catch-22_ predicament, but to no avail. Scorpius. Scarrans. The empress. He was hemmed in on all sides by powerful forces scrambling for a piece of him, with no more ability now than when he'd been an impotent statue to determine his own fate.

Reaching a small clearing, John stopped and gazed up at the brilliant blue sky arcing overhead. Somewhere out there lay another small and lonely world with green trees and blue skies, where people he loved still mourned his loss.

Eighteen months, give or take, since he'd vanished from their lives without a trace. And for all of that time, going home had been his dream, the hope that got him up out of bed every morning. For a while that dream had shared space with Gilina and the baby as the most important things in his life; since their death, it had regained ascendancy and redoubled in urgency. But now....

Katralla, the Royal Colonies, the lives of billions hanging in the balance...he could feel the pull on his conscience, even without the pleasant possibilities of the child he'd 'met' in the testing chamber. Going home seemed more and more unlikely as time passed, so he'd convinced himself that this would be a fair substitute. A wife, children, and the possibility that his life might make a difference--it was enough like his old dreams of the future back on Earth to make this Hobson's choice somewhat palatable.

A twig snapped somewhere behind him, but John didn't bother turning. He'd seen Tauvo from a distance a while back, probably searching for his wayward human. It had only been a matter of time before he tracked him down.

His feelings about his situation now were somewhat different now than they'd been a solar day ago. Part of him wanted to go back inside, embrace his responsibilities and rejoin his wife on the dais as a statue. Deep inside, however, he shuddered at the thought. Though physically painless, Clavor and Cargn's attack had been extremely traumatic, and the terror of seeing Scorpius again had nearly driven him over the edge of madness. John didn't know if he'd be able to stand under that machine again and face being that helpless, never knowing when or how the next assassin would strike.

Of course, all of this was assuming he'd even have the choice. With Scorpius in the picture, John figured he might well find himself dead or kicked off the planet before nightfall, condemned as a Peacekeeper spy.

He took a breath and tried to find a little faith in Aeryn; she'd promised him they'd find a way to fix this. She'd never let him down before.

There was a tread of heavy foot on the ground behind him, and a hot breath of air brushed across the back of John's neck. Frowning, he turned to look....

* * *

By the time the empress returned half an arn later, Aeryn's ears were burning and she was ready to kill something with her bare hands. The admiral had spent the intervening time treating her to a harsh dressing-down for speaking her mind to the empress. It had not been her place to theorize about Scorpius' motivations, he informed her, and she might well have ruined any chance of success for the mission.

He'd just started in on promises of demotion and disgrace when Novia strode through the door and pierced him with an icy glare. He stuttered to a halt mid-sentence.

"I would suggest," the empress said, "that you withdraw your threats against Officer Sun, Admiral. Having now heard from all parties in this situation, I have decided to accept your assistance."

The admiral blinked, taken aback for an instant, then plastered his most ingratiating smile across his face. "I am honored by your trust, Empress."

She turned away with a disgusted snort. "This has nothing to do with trust, Peacekeeper. But if my choice is dealing with you, or dealing with..._ that_," she grimaced in disgust, "then I choose you. Not because of you, but because of _her_." A graceful gesture indicated Aeryn.

The admiral frowned, glancing at Officer Sun in confusion, then back at Novia.

The empress smiled wryly. "Admiral, I endured eighty cycles of frozen existence in that senate chamber, just as my daughter is doing. As tedious as it is having nothing to do but observe the people around you, that experience taught me far more than you might think. I learned to judge people, read their motivations, recognize lies.

"You and your traitorous half-breed are of a kind, Admiral. You are everything I was ever taught Peacekeepers could be: deceitful, arrogant, and callous. You lied to me from the moment you arrived, Admiral, and you have not stopped yet. That you succeeded in deceiving me in the beginning is a credit to your training; I am not usually so easily fooled. Scorpius' lies, on the other hand, were entirely transparent."

The empress then turned to face Aeryn. "The only truth I have heard today came from you, Officer Sun. My gratitude. I felt your sincerity when you spoke, and that treacherous half-breed's demands only confirmed my impression. My son-in-law and successor must be a very special man to have inspired such loyalty and friendship from a Peacekeeper soldier like yourself. For that alone, even if my daughter's future did not hang upon my decision, I would choose to safeguard him. Such an ability to win over even the hardest of hearts could very well prove the makings of a true leader."

There was a shuffle of footsteps outside the door, and everyone turned to see half a dozen Paladins march in, a bedraggled and defiant Scorpius bound and constrained in their midst. A full Scarran growl issued from the half-breed's throat when he saw the empress.

"As for this turncoat," Novia continued, speaking to the admiral and ignoring Scorpius completely, "You were correct in your assumption, Admiral. Once informed of the possible existence of a relay, my security forces were able to trace the true origin of the signal and apprehend this creature. I hope you have no objection to him facing our justice for his illegal trespass onto our world."

"No objection, Empress." The admiral stepped over to the manacled prisoner and gazed calmly at him. "Do you know me, Scorpius?"

Cold blue eyes gazed out of the black leather mask and narrowed. "Admiral Bardjan...."

Aeryn blinked. She knew that name, like she knew the names of all of High Command. Barracks talk, mostly: Bardjan was one of the least powerful, least influential admirals in the entire hierarchy. The rank and file considered him senile, far past his prime, and long overdue for retirement. Apparently, though, that reputation was a deliberate cover.

Still arrogant despite his shackles, Scorpius scoffed, "What is a useless zannet like you doing out here in the Uncharted Territories? You should be cowering back in your safe little office, writing pointless reports that no one will ever read."

"You are in a poor position to spout insults, traitor. My position in High Command is a bit more substantial than my public persona might indicate. Did you ever wonder why no one ever sees the head of Special Directorate?"

The half-breed snarled. "You? You are the one who stole Crichton from my grasp, for this useless attempt--?"

Bardjan struck Scorpius a harsh, contemptuous blow across the face, rocking him back into his guards' grasp. "You should feel privileged, Scorpius...you know something now that only the Council and a few in High Command have been privy to. I hope it comforts you at your execution."

The empress had stepped away, but now turned to face them with full regal formality. The subtle shift from informal discussion to official discourse was not lost on Aeryn, who felt herself drawing to attention automatically. She could see the admiral, too, giving Novia his full interest.

"Find John Crichton, and inform him that his place in the senate chamber awaits his return. This creature's execution will be my belated wedding gift to him, one I believe he will appreciate."

"What of the Scarran ambassador?" Aeryn asked abruptly, without forethought. "And Prince Clavor?"

Novia's expression darkened instantly. "What _about_ Clavor?" she growled threateningly.

Aeryn took a deep breath through her nose and plowed onward. "Though he did infiltrate the palace and attempt to abduct Crichton's head, Scorpius was not responsible for the original attack. Crichton has identified Cargn and Clavor as the ones who dismembered his statue."

The empress was livid. "How dare you accuse my son?" she spluttered.

With an effort, Aeryn remained outwardly calm. "You just praised me for speaking the truth, Empress. Do you only approve of honesty when it tells you what you want to hear?"

The enraged monarch glared daggers, her face reddening to near purple, but she said nothing.

"No matter what you do with Scorpius, Crichton will still never be safe here." Aeryn met and held the older woman's eyes, willing her to believe. "Not as long as he is all that stands between your son and your throne."

Novia shook her head in vehement denial. "I refuse to believe that Clavor is capable of such an act. It is simply not possible that a member of the royal family could--"

The rapid pounding of heavy boots outside in the corridor brought the empress' tirade to a halt. A microt later, Lt. Crais rounded the corner at a dead run, dragging a smaller figure behind him. They stopped just inside the door, both breathing heavily; Tauvo took in the scene before him and bowed perfunctorily to the empress. The smaller figure glanced up from the floor, and Aeryn realized it was the Jakench servant girl she'd seen fluttering around John's quarters occasionally.

"What is the meaning of this intrusion?" the empress demanded.

"My...apologies, Empress--" Tauvo gasped out.

The Jakench interrupted, also panting for breath. "Sorry, Highness...had to tell you...right away!"

"What is it, Ro-Na?" Novia's voice was much more patient when addressing this familiar presence.

"It's Crichton, Highness...he's been stolen!"

"Ro-Na," the empress admonished with a smile, "we know that already. His head was found this morning, and his body reanimated."

"Not the statue, Highness, no!" Ro-Na skittered towards her sovereign, wringing her hands. "Just now, the Scarran ambassador, he was carrying him out of the gardens!"

Aeryn froze in shock, glancing at Tauvo for confirmation. He nodded bleakly, then lowered his gaze.

It just didn't seem fair, Aeryn lamented. To have found John safe, after so much effort, only to lose him again. She could feel hot rage building inside her chest, like a stellar flare about to erupt. The anger was partly at Crichton for running off by himself, but mostly at herself for letting him go. She had allowed her compassion, an emotion she had once disdained, to override her judgment. She should have realized he might still be in danger.

Tauvo was speaking to Novia. "The Jakench found me and told me what she'd seen, Empress. I searched briefly but saw no sign of the Scarran, so I chose to come inform you of the situation as quickly as possible."

The empress didn't hesitate. "Begin searching immediately!" she snapped, addressing the guards. With a few quick gestures from the chief Paladin, four of the six bowed and rushed out, leaving two behind to maintain custody of the prisoner.

As the empress moved to the comms panel to mobilize more personnel to the search, Aeryn stepped over towards Tauvo. "I should never have let him take off alone like that. It took us arns to find him the first time," she pointed out worriedly. "And we were lucky, at that. We may not have that much time...."

Tauvo nodded somberly. "I should have found him quicker," he grumbled miserably.

Aeryn nearly smiled, realizing that she and he were both blaming themselves. "He hides very well," she noted in a deadpan voice, and was rewarded with a ghost of a smile on Tauvo's face as well.

The empress was ranting at the top of her voice across the room, speaking to no one in particular. "If any harm comes to John Crichton, that Scarran will pay with his life!"

_Any harm?_ Aeryn wondered bleakly. As if being beheaded and tossed in acid weren't harm enough. And this was a Scarran they were talking about--when had _any _Peacekeeper every encountered one of their kind _without_ coming to harm?

Aeryn fought the urge to stalk over and slap the old tralk's face. This situation would have never occurred if Novia hadn't been so blind to her son's ambition and perverted loyalties. Even now, she refused to see the truth.

In the absence of such a satisfying display, Aeryn just wanted to rush out and tear this palace to the foundations until she found Crichton. All that stayed her feet was the knowledge that she had no more clue where to begin than anyone else, and she knew far less about the terrain than those already conducting the search. She clenched her fists in frustration.

"I can find Crichton."

The sudden announcement stunned everybody into silence. As one, every person in the room turned to face the speaker.

Scorpius gazed back at them all boldly, still exuding confidence despite his situation.

"How do you think I found him so easily the first time? Release my chains, and I will trace the human for you as I did before."

The empress looked dubious. "I suppose you want something in exchange for this assistance, Peacekeeper? A full pardon, perhaps?"

Scorpius gave a noncommittal shrug in response. "I leave that detail to my lady's formidable conscience," he said silkily. "John Crichton is of no use to either of us dead, and he is too dangerous a pawn to leave in the Scarrans' hands under any circumstances."

Novia stared the half-breed in the face for a long moment, searchingly. Aeryn could see the admiral standing opposite her, glaring angry holes in the unresponsive black leather that covered the back of Scorpius' head.

"Very well," the empress finally agreed. "The matter is urgent, so I will grant you a conditional parole for this task. My final decision on the matter will await the outcome of your efforts."

"My appreciation, Empress," Scorpius replied as the Paladins unlocked the cuffs from his wrists and ankles.

"Understand this, Peacekeeper," Novia said in a quiet, menacing voice, moving right up into the half-breed's face. "I do not trust you. My guards are fully authorized to kill you in an instant, should you attempt betrayal or flight."

Scorpius' only response was a mocking little bow.

* * *

Sweat trickled down John's body, soaking the ragged remnants that were all that remained of his flimsy tunic. Drops burned into his eyes and made small sizzle-pop noises when they dripped into the acid vat below. The searing pain from his shoulder, dislocated in his struggles with Scarran, had long since melted into the overall agony, until he could no longer tell where the pain ended and he began.

The chains around his wrists held him suspended precariously over the tank of greenish liquid while the Scarran prowled around the edge, shooting questions and heat at him in alternating waves. He had tried to keep silent, or barricade his mind with wit and bravado, but he was so tired. The heat was already making him nauseous; he wondered distantly what this would do to a Sebacean. Every dench of exposed skin, which included his arms and most of his torso, felt like he'd gotten a third-degree sunburn. _Where's the Coppertone when you need it?_

John knew he'd revealed some things. He just couldn't remember what he'd said. Scorpy's name had come up once or twice, he knew; the Scarran wanted to know how he'd gotten out of the acid the first time, and that wasn't information John felt like fighting very hard to hold back.

Prince Clavor had appeared at some point during the interrogation. John could hear him whining in the background, even now, demanding petulantly that Cargn kill his rival. Hard to believe the guy was actually related to the pleasant and level-headed Princess Katralla.

"Kill him, Cargn! They'll be searching here soon. Drop him in the acid, and there'll be no evidence. The throne will be mine!"

The Scarran growled, still pacing back and forth like a hungry tiger. "If Scorpius has come so far," he hissed, "then this creature must have something he wants very badly. I will know what it is."

"But the searchers--" The whine in Clavor's tone grew more pronounced by the microt.

"--will be combing the palace for arns, impatient prince. We have more than sufficient time to find the information I need." Like a hungry T-Rex, the Scarran swung his entire head around towards Crichton. A clawed hand reached upwards and a wave of searing heat washed across John's bare chest.

He convulsed, head bending backwards, his screams echoing off the high, concrete walls. Blisters formed and burst on the tender skin under his arms and across his ribs.

The Scarran's voice penetrated the pain. "Why is Scorpius here? Why has he come all this way to rescue you?"

"I...don't...know," John managed to grit out between his teeth. It was partly true; he didn't really know why Scorpius was so desperate to get him back. It seemed like a lot of trouble to go to for a few scientific equations John wasn't even sure he possessed.

The heat intensified, focused on his head. "What does he want with you?!" the question came again, more demanding.

John opened his mouth, the pressure of the heat probe forcing the truth up this throat. But just at that moment, another voice broke into the cacophony and the agony abated.

"Why not ask me that question, Ambassador?"

John couldn't see the intruder who had entered from behind him, but he recognized the voice. He saw Cargn scowl in disgust, and for just one second John was in total agreement with him.

"Scorpius...." The Scarran's voice thickened with contempt as he said the name.

Clavor fled from this new intruder, scampering back to hide behind the huge bulk of his erstwhile ally.

Scorpius appeared at the edge of John's field of view, sauntering around the edge of the room as if he hadn't a care in the world. The Scarran turned to follow his movements, pointing his arm threateningly.

"Step closer, biological mistake, and I will be pleased to oblige. You have come to retrieve your quarry, I see." The Scarran placed his other hand on the release mechanism for the chains. "A single move, and your prize will fall."

John knew he ought to be frightened. Maybe it was the pain, which still wracked him from head to toe, but he felt nothing at the sight of his own death under the Scarran's heavy hand. It wasn't really a bad third option when considering the combatants vying for possession of him.

Suddenly Clavor, still cowering behind Cargn, glanced back towards the door where Scorpius had entered, and his eyes widened. Backing away, his head swung back and forth in desperate uncertainty.

"Hold fast!" Three separate voices spoke the command in tandem from behind John. Clavor swallowed nervously, then suddenly decided to switch sides.

"Guards, kill the Scarran!" he squealed. "He abducted me! And the Regent! Kill him!"

Cargn turned ponderously, glaring at what was probably an entire contingent of the empress' Paladins at the door, then turning towards the quivering Clavor. "Duplicitous prince...as promised, you die now."

The Scarran directed the full force of his heat gland at the cringing Sebacean, just as the room erupted into pulse fire.

None of it seemed to have any effect on the Scarran; Clavor screamed and collapsed into a twitching puddle of burned flesh. Then Cargn turned and raised the other arm, aiming for the chain release, determined to rob the rescuers of their prize. John closed his eyes, waiting for the drop.

* * *

Aeryn Sun stood quiet and pensive in the darkened senate chamber. The palace around her was nearly silent on this, the last evening of the official period of mourning. Voices were hushed, expressions somber. Even so, she had felt the need to come here, to be alone.

Or, well, not completely alone. A single statue, standing straight and proud, still graced the dais in the center of the room. The princess' expression showed the subdued happiness of her wedding day. Aeryn wondered, looking at that frozen smile, if Katralla wept for all of their recent losses behind her mask.

Five days had passed since the frantic search for John Crichton had ended, deep in the bowels of the palace, and Aeryn still found herself thinking about it, wondering what she might have done differently.

Once the empress agreed to let Scorpius lead them to Crichton, a mixed group of Paladins and Peacekeeper commandos--allowed to carry their weapons once again by royal decree--was quickly assembled. The group had included not only herself and Lt. Crais, but also her fellow Marauder crewmembers Aqida and Leyn.

If Aeryn had thought the admiral was harsh with her for speaking out to the empress, she soon discovered differently. He ripped into Aqida and Leyn with no mercy, for having allowed Scorpius aboard their transport in the first place, and for not informing the admiral of his arrival. Neither commando made any excuses. They knew, just as Aeryn knew, that unless they did something to redeem themselves, they faced harsh punishment upon their return to Peacekeeper space.

Scorpius had been as good as his word, at least as far as getting them to Crichton's location. Using a strange device, probably one of his own design, he traced the human's DNA signature back down to the industrial levels. Once they arrived, the half-breed had offered to act as a distraction; after some heated discussion, the chief Paladin had agreed.

As the Scarran and Scorpius bickered, Aeryn had had to suppress a gasp of horror at her first glimpse of John Crichton. He was hanging five motras in the air over an industrial acid tank, his bare back and arms slick with sweat and blood, blisters from the heat evident in several places. She couldn't tell if he was conscious, or even if he was alive.

After that, though, everything had gone to Hezmana very quickly. Clavor's call for help had confused the Paladin guards just long enough for Cargn to turn and blast his puppet prince into the living death. As pulse blasts criss-crossed the chamber, Aeryn saw the Scarran turn to the chain hoist release, about to send the battered body of his other victim plunging into the acid.

Aeryn had tensed, about to leap on the Scarran, do anything to stop him, but she was a microt slow. Sub-officer Leyn reached Cargn first and threw her entire body weight against that powerful arm, deflecting it just enough to miss the release mechanism.

The victory was short-lived, of course, as she must have known it would be. A Sebacean, even a highly-trained Peacekeeper commando, had little chance of victory in hand-to-hand combat against a far stronger and supremely invulnerable Scarran. Within microts, Leyn was smashed to the floor and didn't get up.

It was at that moment that a stray shot, ricocheting off of the Scarran's hide, struck the chains holding Crichton suspended, sending him plummeting towards the acid below.

Aeryn had screamed in denial, too far away to act, able only to watch in horror as he fell. A blur of motion caught her eye in that fraction of a microt, as Senior Officer Aqida executed a perfectly timed leap across the acid vat and struck the falling man square in the back. The impact threw Crichton forward, away from the tank. His feet caught on the edge of the vat at the last microt, tumbling him to the hard floor with a bone-jarring crash, where he too lay still.

Aqida was not so lucky; the impact that had thrown John clear had stopped his own trajectory in mid-flight. His momentum lost, he dropped straight into the vat and did not surface. The acid was so powerful, it was likely he had died too fast to feel any pain.

In all of the ensuing chaos, the Scarran ambassador escaped, after leaving two Paladins in the throes of severe heat delirium and a third dead of a broken neck. He was later shot down in space, attempting to flee in a stolen cargo vessel.

Scorpius, too, had managed to slink away during the firefight. Thus far, no trace of him had been found. The admiral was of the opinion that he would simply vanish into the Uncharted Territories, assuming he even made it off-planet. Once Bardjan returned to High Command, Scorpius' career in the Peacekeepers would be finished.

Now, five solar days later, the royal family was just concluding its official mourning period for the late and unlamented Prince Clavor. Crichton was still in the hospital wing recovering from his injuries, which had included a severely dislocated and torn shoulder, a concussion and cracked cheekbone from the fall, and blistered burns over a third of his body.

The colony doctors had muttered in awe at the level of heat the human had survived. They had worried when he first awakened that the heat might have affected his mental capacities, but Aeryn had smiled and assured them that John always talked like that.

Leyn, too, had survived, though she was in far worse condition than Crichton. Her shoulder and upper arm were crushed, and her neck had been broken, though the spinal cord was still intact. The doctors were worried about swelling, though, which might damage the nerves and paralyze her for life.

Aeryn had spent a good portion of her time in the hospital wing, visiting both of them. Crichton seemed intent on distracting himself from his own pain and worries by trying to cheer Leyn up.

Her silent contemplation in the shadows of the senate chamber was brought to an end when two people entered through the main doors. Empress Novia and Councilor Tyno stopped, likely surprised to find the room occupied.

"Empress. Councilor." Aeryn greeted with a polite bow to each.

"Officer Sun," the empress replied. "Did you have a purpose here?"

Aeryn flushed; her reasons seemed foolish when put into words. "I wanted to spend some time here, feel the room. John Crichton will be spending the next eighty cycles within these walls...I suppose I want to remember him."

Novia and Tyno glanced at each other, looking uncomfortable.

"What?" Aeryn demanded, feeling a twinge of worry. "Is something wrong with Crichton?"

Tyno hastened to reassure her. "No, Officer, he is recovering well; he should be ready to leave the hospital wing by tomorrow."

"Then what?"

He glanced at his sovereign, who nodded. "As I have just informed the Empress, there is a problem we had not foreseen. John Crichton will not be able to resume his role as Regent after all."

"What? After everything we went through?"

"Do you think this pleases me?" the empress asked grimly. "Having made such concessions to you Peacekeepers for the sake of an heir, I have now lost nearly everything I had gained."

Tyno tried to clarify. "Our transfiguration technology is designed for Sebaceans. You will recall the level of pain the process inflicted on Crichton the first time. Our doctors have warned us that his human physiology would not tolerate it a second time; it would kill him."

"This is what I have come here to tell Katralla," the empress said, gazing sadly at her daughter.

Aeryn was torn between anger and elation. They had gone to so much effort to get to this point, it was difficult to conceive of it all being for nothing. And yet, she knew John was terrified of having to become a helpless statue again. This revelation would be a welcome relief.

"So Katralla will have to step down?" she asked, wondering who would take the throne now that Clavor was out of the picture.

Novia smiled thinly and shook her head. "The next nearest person to the throne is a fourth cousin, already past 200 cycles old and childless. Katralla will remain as the next empress."

"But what about an heir? Without Crichton, how is she to have children of her own?"

"That is not an issue. Katralla is already pregnant; the line will continue."

Aeryn stopped with her mouth hanging open, shocked and forgetting what her next words were to be. Another child of Crichton's genes, like Gilina's child. Another child lost to him.

When she found her voice again, she asked, "Will your people accept an empress with no regent?"

Novia looked worried. "I do not know. There is no precedent."

Aeryn glanced over at Tyno, who was paying no attention to the conversation anymore. He was staring at Katralla, longing and love written clearly on his face. She had a flash of an idea.

"Have someone take Crichton's place, then. Councilor Tyno loves her; let him be Regent. No one need ever know that he's not the father of Katralla's child."

Novia looked over at Tyno, whose eyes had widened in surprise and hope. It didn't take long to consult with Katralla, who gave her ready and grateful acceptance of the idea. Just as they were wrapping up, Aeryn had one more question.

"Have you informed Crichton yet?"

"Not yet. That was to be my next task," Novia assured her.

"Then may I ask a favor, Empress?"

The empress' eyes narrowed speculatively. "What type of favor?"

"Will you allow me to deliver the news to Crichton?"

Novia thought for a microt, then nodded. "May I ask why?"

"Because I don't want to have to ask you to lie to him."

* * *

John stared at Aeryn's serious face, still a bit groggy from so much sleep. He was feeling almost healthy again for the first time in days. "You're sure? They won't make me go back to being a statue?"

Aeryn nodded, gracing him with one of her magical smiles. "Apparently the process isn't meant for humans. It would kill you if they tried it a second time."

The relief was so profound, so overwhelming, that John found himself laughing. The doctors across the room glanced at him, worried, but none of them seemed willing to approach. "Hallelujah!" he finally sighed emphatically.

Aeryn raised an eyebrow at that untranslatable word, and John grinned wider.

It took a few minutes for reality to impinge upon the joy of freedom. Scorpius was no longer a threat, and he didn't have to stay here as a pigeon perch for the next several decades. He could refocus his efforts on going home; suddenly all the difficulties and dead ends of his research seemed minor. The Peacekeepers might not want to let him go, but he'd find a way.

"Wait..." he finally said, remembering something. "What about Katralla? She'll lose her throne--"

Aeryn shook her head. "No, she won't. With Clavor dead, she's the only available heir. They'll let her stay. I suggested they appoint Councilor Tyno as your replacement."

John nodded. "Good. She loves him; she deserves to be happy. But what about her poisoned DNA? How can she have kids?"

Aeryn shrugged, her eyes shifting away from his face. "I suppose they have the next eighty cycles to research the problem. Maybe in that time they'll find a cure."

"Hmm. Maybe."

TBC...


	13. Scarran Redux

**Episode 12 - Scarran Redux  
**

_"Be with me when I go..." -- Leslie Crichton_

Aeryn stood at the door to Moya's center chamber, watching John. He was sitting hunched over the table, turning a drinking cup between his hands, staring into space. He seemed oblivious to everything, lost in thought, and she couldn't help but wonder what was running through his mind.

"Penny for them."

She jumped, startled. John hadn't looked up, hadn't stopped rocking that cup back and forth in mechanical repetition, but the words had undoubtedly issued from him. They made too little sense to have been from anyone else.

"What did you say?" she finally asked.

"'Penny for your thoughts', Aeryn," he said with a small half-smile, still not looking at her. "Human phrase. Just wondering what you were thinking."

"Hm." She walked into the room and sat down across the table from him, into his line of sight. He blinked and finally met her eyes. "Actually, I was just about to ask you the same thing," she said.

John's eyes drifted away from her again, and he was quiet for a long moment. The cup stilled and was set down on the table.

"I was thinking..."

She waited.

"I was thinking that I should apologize...but I'm not sure to whom."

"Apologize? What for?"

John looked down at his hands, turning them over and back as if analyzing his very pores for an answer. "I feel...I feel like I've been walking in a fog for the past half cycle. I've been so...wrapped up in myself, in what happened to me...I haven't had anything left for anyone else. I haven't been much of a friend lately." He glanced up, looking over Aeryn's shoulder at the door. "To either of you."

Aeryn turned to see Tauvo standing just where she had been microts before, his hand resting on the archway.

"Hey," he greeted, stepping inside.

She almost laughed--some of John's incomprehensible phrases had infiltrated their vocabulary of late--but just said "Hey" back.

"Crichton," he said, sitting down across from them both. "We do appreciate that your experiences on the Gammak base were... unpleasant."

John shook his head sadly. "That's no excuse. I've had my head up my ass for way too long. And then, back there on the Royal Planet? God, I'm amazed that one of you didn't shoot me."

"Don't think I wasn't tempted," Aeryn teased.

"I've spent this whole trip, ever since the admiral grabbed me on the carrier, doing nothing but react. I was scared. Scared of Scorpy. Scared of the admiral. Scared of my own frelling shadow, seems like, and all I could seem to do was run away. I never even tried to fight back. I can't believe you guys managed to put up with me when I was being such a coward."

Aeryn nodded, somewhat undiplomatically. She _had_ been worried about him. He'd changed after the Gammak base, as if he'd lost something more than just Gilina. Some integral part of the strength and stubbornness that had first drawn Aeryn to him, that had saved her life, and Tauvo's life, on numerous occasions, had been missing. He'd been good at masking it, most of the time, burying the damage under false smiles and jokes, but under stress it had shown through clearly. The Peacekeeper in her had been disgusted, but the rest of her had just hoped it was temporary and that the Crichton she knew would return.

John either didn't see her too-ready agreement or ignored it. "It's like I've been sleepwalking through my life," he groused, "and now I'm finally opening my eyes. Something, maybe that last bout with the Scarran, seems to have snapped me out of it. I'm done wallowing in self-pity."

"Glad to hear it, Crichton," Tauvo said lightly. "You're right, you know. You have been acting like a drannit lately."

"What's a drannit?"

Aeryn and Tauvo met each other's look at that and burst into laughter, while John just looked on, first confused and then dismayed.

"Never mind. I don't think I want to know."

* * *

"I still can't believe you did that, Crichton," Aeryn grumbled as she and John approached their table. She handed one of the drinks she was holding to Lt. Crais, who was already seated, and then sat down. John swung a leg carelessly over the third chair and set his own glass on the table.

After a long day of loading supplies onto the transport pod and ferrying them to Moya, the three friends had returned to the planet's surface for a well-earned, if reluctantly awarded, single solar day of shore leave. They had claimed a corner of this disreputable-looking tavern for the evening. The other patrons of the bar were giving their table a wide berth; three armed Peacekeepers on leave was enough to give even the most inebriated troublemaker pause.

"Oh, come on. It worked, didn't it?" John grinned unrepentantly as he took a large mouthful of the local alcoholic brew.

Tauvo was looking at both of them as if they'd grown two heads. "Did what? What did you do, Crichton?"

John sat back and steepled his fingers together, eyes twinkling with amusement. "I dunno.... What do you think, Aeryn? Will the good lieutenant here turn me in if I tell him what a bad boy I've been?"

As she pretended to ponder the question, Aeryn saw Crais come to the realization that he was being teased. "I suppose I could be convinced to look the other way...for a price," he shot back at Crichton.

John sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. "Extortion. Oh, how the mighty Peacekeeper has fallen--" He broke off with a laughing yelp as Tauvo tossed one of the salty snacks from the bowl in the center of the table at him.

The dark-haired lieutenant held up his hand, holding another of the small nut-like objects as if ready to throw again. "Talk, Crichton," he growled, "or face the consequences!"

John grabbed a handful from the bowl for himself and took up a defensive stance, trying to look fierce but failing miserably.

Aeryn looked on, highly bemused, as the two men's banter quickly devolved into an all-out food fight. Crichton might not be the best shot with a pulse pistol, she thought, but he more than made up for it with the accuracy of his thrown projectiles. She amused herself for a time by picking up stray pellets and tossing them at both combatants.

Eventually the two laughing men ran out of ammunition and returned to their seats. The rest of the patrons were looking at them like they'd completely lost their minds, and the clear space left around them had, if anything, increased. "So, are you going to tell me?" Tauvo asked when he finally caught his breath.

John snorted, looking down at his glass. "Okay, fine. Moya's refrigeration system didn't fail by accident. I rigged it."

"What? Why?"

The human shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Aeryn as if for moral support before replying. "For Tesha."

Crais snorted. "Crichton, what are you concerning yourself with Sub-officer Leyn for? We'll take her back to the carrier's doctors; if she recovers, she'll return to duty. If not, she'll be retired with honors."

Crichton exploded. "'Retired' my redneck ass! She's paralyzed. They'll kill her, or let her kill herself." He glanced at Aeryn, but she kept her face impassive. Her own paralysis and narrowly-averted fate was not a memory she cared to exhume. "Either way, same difference. I am not going to let that happen; that's why I did what I did."

"What do you mean? What exactly did you do?" Crais didn't seem angry, merely puzzled.

Aeryn joined the conversation at that point. "The Delvian prisoner believes that, untreated, Leyn's injuries will cause permanent neural damage by the time we reach the carrier. She knows of a treatment that may help, though."

Now Crais looked interested. "Why did she not simply inform the admiral?"

John barked a harsh laugh. "She did! Frelling bastard blew her off, didn't believe her. He refused to stop anywhere where Zhaan could get the ingredients she needed. 'No need to delay our return for something so insignificant,' is the way he put it. We're talking about a woman's life here, a woman who was injured while saving _mine_. I can't just stand by and watch the bastard discard her like an empty chakan oil cartridge."

Aeryn spoke up again, this time addressing John. "What I still don't understand, though, is what possessed you to sabotage the refrigeration system," she asked, puzzled by the choice of targets.

John grinned at the recollection, all his previous indignation forgotten. "I needed something that wasn't significant enough to arouse suspicions, but was still important enough to get a reaction. Our dear admiral may be a tough bastard in every other way, but he likes to eat, and eat well. Pilot helped me make some inquiries. There's a commerce planet near our course that had the stuff Zhaan needs. Then I killed the cold storage and all of the Admiral's fancy groceries spoiled. I timed it so we'd be in range of this place when he discovered the problem."

"Crichton...." Tauvo growled, looking stern and disgusted.

"Hey, don't get your panties in a bunch, buddy. There's plenty of food cubes, so we weren't in any danger of going hungry if he didn't take the bait. I just didn't figure our fearless leader would want to stoop to eating grot rations for over two monens. And I was right." He indicated the commerce planet they were currently drinking on with a grandiose wave. "Here we are."

Aeryn thought it might be a good idea to change the subject. "Well, I can't say I don't understand the admiral's eagerness to get back home. I'd like to get back to actually doing something useful, and I haven't had my hands on a decent set of flight controls in monens."

John quirked an eyebrow at her. "You flew the pod down here less than two arns ago, Aeryn."

"That doesn't count." Leviathan transport pods were both sturdy and functional, but about as challenging to pilot as a level riser.

Crais slammed back the rest of his drink and waved to the nearest servicer for another round. "We'll be fortunate not to have to undergo retraining when we return, after so long without proper facilities."

Aeryn nodded somberly.

Crichton slouched a little deeper into his chair. "Well, hey, at least you guys have something to look forward to. I have no idea what's going to happen to me when we get back."

Now where had that come from? "Won't you go right back to your wormhole research? I thought that's why you didn't want to stay on the Royal Planet in the first place," Aeryn asked.

John shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. It's not like I was making a whole hell of a lot of progress before the admiral shanghaied my ass out here. Captain Crais might have decided to dump the whole project."

Tauvo smiled slightly. "While it is true that my brother is not known for his patience, you're forgetting one small detail, Crichton: Scorpius will be officially expelled from Peacekeeper ranks as soon as the Admiral gets back to High Command with his report. That means _his_ little wormhole project is going to take a serious hit and might even get shut down completely. You'll be the one and only remaining researcher, and don't think Bialar is going to let an opportunity like that pass him by."

"You think so?"

"After I finish talking to him? You bet your eema."

John smiled a bit wider at that. "You da man," he drawled, holding up a fist. Tauvo met the gesture, striking John's hand with his own. It was one of the many strange rituals Aeryn had observed between the two of them over the past half cycle, all of them equally incomprehensible.

John held his upbeat mood as the next round finally arrived at the table, along with a fresh bowl of snack food to replace the bowl they'd used as ammunition. After the servicer left, though, he sighed. "I just wish I was making better progress. At the rate I'm going I'm gonna be stuck here for cycles."

Aeryn glanced at Tauvo. "He doesn't like our company," she lamented in a mock-serious tone.

The lieutenant smirked. "We should have left him with his princess," he replied.

"Yes, he'd have been much happier spending the next eighty cycles dressed in bronze."

"She _was_ very pretty, you know."

"Think of the power."

"The money." Tauvo's eyes were sparkling as he got into the game.

"The mindless tedium." Aeryn went in for the kill.

John finally burst out laughing. "Fine, fine, I give! You're right, both of you. You're very annoying when you're right."

"Well, I apologize for my strengths," Aeryn quipped back.

"I'm the senior officer present," Tauvo said, very seriously. "That means I'm _always_ right. It's in the regs. Look it up."

The bowl of nuts was soon empty again, as Crais found himself under attack from two sides at once.

* * *

Aeryn charted a careful course across the now mostly deserted refreshment house, back to the table where she could hear John loudly expounding on some topic. From this distance, Tauvo appeared to be listening with rapt attention to every word...or maybe he was just concentrating very hard on not getting sick.

Both men had quite clearly consumed more than their fair share of alcohol in the past few arns. After the first few rounds, John had decided he ought to be celebrating his narrow escape from the clutches of, as he put it, 'Empress, Scarrans, and Scorpy, oh my,' and had set to it with a will.

Aeryn's steps faltered slightly as she crossed the room, but she managed not to lose her balance. She was doing somewhat better than her companions.

As she drew closer to the table, she could hear John more clearly. "I's like...freeways. Y' find one, hop on and drive al'ng in y'r '62 T-bird wi' the top down...anyway, y' hafta go where the road goes. But I don' gotta map." John reached for his glass, and found it on the third try.

"Crichton," she interrupted as she reached the table, "what the frell are you prattling on about?"

"Hey beautiful!" The human greeted effusively, raising the glass and sloshing half the remaining liquid onto the table. "Where you been hidin'?"

Aeryn felt her face flush at that intimate greeting. "Playing tadek in the back room," she reminded him. "You boys were having too much fun for me."

"Oh, well, tha's all righ' then. I jus' been tryin' to 'splain somethin' to Dippy the Wonder Grunt here."

For the first time since she'd walked up, Tauvo blinked. He looked at Aeryn, looked at John, then groaned and laid his head on the table. "Crichton," came his muffled voice, "I hardly believed it was possible, but you make even less sense when you're drunk."

John snorted derisively, then looked up at Aeryn. "Really, babe, it's very simple...."

She tried to interrupt. "Crichton, I think you should--"

"See, y' wanna get from poin' A to poin' B. Got three choices."

"Crichton--"

"Y' cud fly normal, but that'd take years. Y' cud _make_ a wormhole--"

"John!" she finally snapped, sharply enough to cut through the alcoholic haze. She also covered his mouth with one hand.

"Wha'?" he queried in a hurt, muffled voice.

Aeryn held up one finger in front of his face; John's eyes nearly crossed trying to look at it. "This is not a good place to be discussing classified projects," she explained quietly.

It took a few microts for the words to penetrate the human's sodden brain cells, but he finally nodded agreeably.

They sat together in silence for a while, as Aeryn ordered herself a fresh drink and the two men nursed what was left of theirs. Suddenly, after about a hundred microts, John frowned and shook his head. Aeryn was about to ask what was wrong when he waved a hand impatiently past his ear, as if brushing away a biting insect. "No!" he snapped. "Go away. You aren't real." His voice was pained, almost frightened.

"John? Who are you talking to?"

"Hmm?" John attempted to look innocent, but his usual ability to dissemble was seriously hampered by inebriation. "Oh, nothin'. Jus' talkin' to myself." The lie was all too obvious, but Aeryn didn't know what to do about it. It might just be the effect of too much alcohol, or it might be something like transit madness--hallucinations were a common symptom. She'd have to remember to keep an eye on him.

"I think it's time to go back to our lodgings so you can sleep it off," she finally suggested. Rest would help, no matter what the source of the problem.

"Aw, do I hafta, Mom?" John whined in a childish voice, the sloppy grin on his face almost erasing the memory of his earlier lapse.

Tauvo levered himself up out of his chair and wavered a moment before finding his balance. "Officer Sun is correct. We should be on our way before we have to carry you out of here."

Aeryn saw Tauvo put a hand on the chair back to steady himself again and smirked. "Before _I_ have to carry _both_ of you," she corrected him.

The two men glanced at each other and leered. "Sounds like fun," Tauvo said. John snickered.

Fortunately, nothing of the sort was required; both men managed to negotiate the narrow streets between the refreshment house and their rented lodgings without assistance. Fortunate because, though she'd certainly consumed less than her companions, Aeryn was not entirely steady on her feet, either. The three of them must have been an amusing spectacle, staggering into one another and laughing hysterically the whole way, while Crichton periodically serenaded the local neighborhoods with raucous drinking songs from his home world.

By the time they lurched into the rooming house and up to their rooms, all three were gasping and breathless with laughter. Aeryn herself was feeling downright giddy, flushed from head to toe with a pleasant warmth. Despite her earlier words, she wasn't really sure she was ready for the evening to be over.

They finally stumbled into the room being shared by Crichton and Crais. Tauvo collapsed dramatically onto one bunk, while Aeryn tossed Crichton, still singing, onto the other. The human silenced on impact, then turned laboriously over to face her.

"Gonna tuck me in, Mom?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Aeryn just shook her head. "Go to sleep, Crichton," she said.

She could see him losing his battle for consciousness, as his eyelids drooped lower. After a few microts, he muttered a sleepy question that she didn't catch enough of to interpret. "What was that, Crichton?"

"Keep Scorpy away from me?" It was a plaintive, child-like request, from a mind already half asleep.

"Scorpius isn't here, John," she assured him, but he was gone before she finished the sentence and soon snoring quietly.

Aeryn turned to Tauvo, who had rolled up onto one elbow and was watching her with an intense expression. "I suppose you want to be 'tucked in' as well?" she joked.

The response she received was not exactly what she'd been expecting.

* * *

It was morning. Generations of humans across the face of their fertile planet, in hundreds of languages and dialects, had cursed mornings throughout the centuries. John was proud, he supposed, to be able to add Sebacean profanity to the legacy.

A thin beam of morning sunlight streamed through the tiny crack in the window shade, providing John with first-hand proof that there were worse tortures than the Aurora chair.

He rolled over, groaning dramatically at the pain in his head and the roiling sea-storm that was his stomach, before braving the agony that followed opening his eyes. The world was blurry, and refused to hold still.

"Hey man," he began, complaining to his roomie. "Why'd you let me--" By that point, though, his eyes had managed to focus, and he realized he was alone. The other bunk across the room, which should have held an equally hung-over and disgruntled lieutenant, was empty.

He narrowed his eyes, looking closer. Empty, yes, and neatly made to boot. "Frelling Peacekeeper poster boy," John grumbled, throwing the covers over his head in disgust. "Even makes his bed in a hotel."

Half an arn later, after a long, cool, soothing shower--firmly rationed aboard spaceships like the carrier and Moya as a precious and limited resource, water was blessedly unrestricted planetside--John was able to stagger down to the common room and collapse into a chair at the table Tauvo and Aeryn had already claimed for first meal.

Without a word, Tauvo passed him a huge, golden-amber pill. It looked for all the world like a giant vitamin capsule, but he took it gratefully and swallowed it without even waiting for water to wash it down. The medics on the carrier had dispensed these Nashtin pills to him a few times when his binges left him unable to report for duty; he recognized it immediately for what it was.

"Thanks, man," he sighed, leaning back and waiting for blessed relief to set in. "Hope you guys didn't have to carry me back to the room or anything last night." John's memory of the previous evening was vague and fragmented at best.

Aeryn shook her head, not looking up from her plate. She hadn't so much as glanced at John since he'd sat down. He figured she was still waiting for her own pill to take effect.

"No, Crichton," Tauvo confirmed. "We all managed to crawl back under our own power, more or less."

By the time the Nashtin finally kicked in a quarter arn later, John was ready to face the concept of breakfast. Aeryn and Tauvo had already finished theirs, but they lingered while he ate. Aeryn was quiet, letting Tauvo do the talking for the most part.

"So, you have some shopping to do today, right Crichton?" Tauvo finally asked as John finished eating.

"Yup. Gotta track down Zhaan's herbs. You guys have big plans for your day?"

The two soldiers glanced at each other, exchanging some silent communication. "We thought we might help you," Aeryn said, finally looking at John.

Tauvo explained. "You haven't had much experience on commerce planets, Crichton. They can be dangerous if you don't know what to watch out for."

John sat back, astonished. "I thought you considered this a waste of time." He'd actually been hoping to convince Aeryn to join him, for the very reasons Crais had given, but he'd never expected her to simply volunteer, much less Tauvo.

Crais shrugged. "It's not like we've got anything better to do on this wastehole of a world. Letting the priest mix her potion won't hurt anything, and might save the life of a fellow Peacekeeper. You were right; that alone is worth a bit of effort."

_Saving any life is with a bit of effort,_ John thought, but didn't say it. Much as he loved Aeryn and Tauvo, he didn't think they were ready for his radical human xeno-philosophy at this hour of the morning, especially not after the night they'd had.

After some discussion, the three of them decided that it would be more efficient to split up. Tauvo would go with John, while Aeryn would head in the opposite direction. It would allow them to cover more of the market area in less time; whichever party found what they were looking for first would then contact the other and they would all meet back at the transport pod.

* * *

This wasn't the first new planet John had been on, of course. It was, however, the first time since the day he'd fallen down the rabbit hole that he'd had the leisure to look around without pressing, life-or-death problems on his mind. On Sykar he'd been a prisoner, and there hadn't been much left of their world to look at, anyway. On Litigara, he'd been consumed by his own grief and hadn't been interested in anything. And the Royal Planet? Feh! Spending two weeks trapped in the palace of Barbie-world, with weddings, statues, Scarrans, and acid vats, had not been conducive to any real sight-seeing.

But here.... He thought his head might twist right off his neck as he turned around and about trying to see everything at once. Three-headed trelkez, six-legged fellips from Tarsus, vile-smelling perfumes, and a noxious tub of slime that John thought might have made a good industrial lubricant, but which was actually, Tauvo informed him, a culinary delicacy for some local species John didn't care to meet.

Tauvo watched John as they wandered, looking half amused and half annoyed at his child-like curiosity. "Come on, Crichton," he said at last, dragging him away from yet another fascinating critter on display. "We have an apothecary to find, remember?"

"This is like the ultimate tourist trap," John observed in amused disgust as he followed. "Ten square miles of kitschy knick-knacks and lousy junk food, all of it massively over-priced, but nothing you might actually need."

A few minutes later, as they rounded a corner onto a new street, Tauvo grabbed John's arm and pulled them both up against the wall. He looked wary, glancing back around the corner and fingering his gun, suddenly transformed from relaxed visitor into Peacekeeper soldier.

"What is it?" John whispered, reaching for his own pulse pistol.

"We're being followed."

"You sure?"

Tauvo just gave him a look, and John raised his hands as if to ward it off. "Never mind, forget I asked the stupid question. Of course you're sure. So who is it?" He bent forward to look, but Tauvo pushed him back.

"One of the locals, I think. I spotted him outside the lodging house as we left." The Sebacean looked over at him again, this time with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Feel like playing a bit of vorcha and malik?"

John shook his head. "Afraid that didn't translate, bro."

Chagrined, Tauvo explained. "They're predator and prey species on my home colony. In most seasons, the vorcha hunt the malik and take them easily. When the malik have nests, though, they are vicious in the defense of their young. It is not unheard of for a careless vorcha to become food for hungry malik cubs."

John thought he understood. "So we turn the tables on our shadow, become the hunters instead of the prey?"

"Precisely."

"All right, sounds like fun. What do you want me to do?"

Less than two hundred microts later, John was strolling casually through the market. Tauvo had described their shadow sufficiently for the less experienced human to spot him, then had broken off and headed in the direction of the nearest public sanitary facilities.

As Crais had suggested, the man following them seemed to have been waiting for this opportunity to catch one of them alone. He drew closer to Crichton, wandering through the stalls just as nonchalantly as his quarry.

John continued to appear oblivious. Inwardly, of course, he tried to remain hyper-aware of his pursuer's every movement, adrenaline pumping through his veins with each accelerated heartbeat. As the pursuer drew closer, John could see he was downright twitchy, eyes shifting and dancing constantly. He seemed nervous, even frightened, but one thing John had learned during his time out here was not to project human responses onto the aliens he encountered. This might simply be the way this species always acted. At the opposite end of the scale, Pa'u Zhaan was the embodiment of serenity no matter what the situation; to her, _everyone_ probably looked tense.

As instructed, John tried act naturally and continue what they'd been doing all along. He approached one of the shopkeepers and asked for directions to the nearest apothecary or herb shop; this one, like every other one they'd asked, shook his head and claimed no knowledge of such a thing in the area.

Turning away, not so much disappointed as resigned, John nearly jumped out of his skin to find the shadow standing at his elbow. He clamped his teeth together and managed not to yelp like a dog when its tail gets stepped on.

"Herbs, you seek? Medicines? _Drugs?_"

The man--at least, he assumed it was male--was probably a foot shorter than John was, but may have outweighed him by as much as twenty pounds. His voice was deep and guttural, which made for an almost amusing contrast to his Yoda-like syntax.

"Yes?" John replied cautiously.

The stocky man bobbed and jiggled, eyes dancing left and right. "Help you can, I maybe," he chirped brightly.

The offer might have seemed innocent, a helpful stranger who just happened to overhear, had John not known the man was tracking them.

"You can help me all right, pal," he growled, drawing his pulse pistol. "You can tell me why you've been following us."

The creature's eyes widened and he turned to flee, but Tauvo was already standing behind him, gun in hand, blocking his escape and closing the trap. The stocky man cowered between them as Tauvo and John marched him out to a nearby alley for a more private discussion.

"Talk, alien," Crais growled, tossing him against the wall.

"Apologies, sirs, no offense meant, I."

"Following Peacekeepers is a dangerous hobby. I should simply kill you where you stand."

John placed his hand on Tauvo's arm, as if to restrain him. "Don't be hasty, Lieutenant. Give Yogurt here a chance to explain himself." This was John's contribution to the plan. No one out here had ever heard of the old Earth cliché called 'good cop, bad cop'; it would probably work better on this guy than it would with some hoodlum on Earth who'd watched too much TV.

"Yes, yes! Please, explain can, I!"

Tauvo did his best to look grim and doubtful--John had a sneaking suspicion that he was mimicking his brother Bialar--but nodded reluctantly.

"Contact did, our world, our commerce directors, you, yes? Certain items seeking?"

"Yes," John confirmed. "I was told we could find them here, but we've had no luck."

"Sent me out, my master, to find, to bring to him, you. Not common, not easy, these herbs you seek. Find them by chance, might not, you."

Tauvo growled, still looking suspicious. "And your master, he has these items?"

"Yes, yes! Sent me, he. Purchase wish, you, me follow, you?"

John tugged on Tauvo's arm. "Let us discuss your offer, friend," he said to the small alien.

Tauvo walked with him to the far end of the alley, glaring daggers over his shoulder at the alien still hunched by the wall. "Do you trust him?" he asked John.

John laughed sharply. "Not likely. But he is right about one thing: I did contact the planet over a weeken ago, and I was told Zhaan's list of herbs was available in this city. It's possible he's on the level."

"Or it could be a trap."

John paused thoughtfully, then shook his head. "It's up to you, Lieutenant," he said, stressing their difference in rank. "I'm willing to take the risk, for Leyn's sake. I owe her."

Crais nodded. "All right, we'll go along. But keep your gun handy, just in case."

The alien led them through what seemed like metras of winding streets and narrow alleys, into a part of town that looked dingy and unkempt. The crowds teeming through the market areas were absent here, and the few people they did see skittered along the building perimeters like frightened rats. John was getting a sinking feeling that Yogurt's master dealt in more than just medicinal herbs, and that some of his products might be less than legal.

Their guide finally led them into another dark alley, this one a dead end. He was, if anything, twitchier and more frightened looking that he'd been before, and John was beginning to suspect that it wasn't just a species trait. He paused halfway down the alley and put a hand on Tauvo's shoulder. "I've got a bad feeling about this, bro."

Tauvo glanced at him, then followed his gaze to the alien who was knocking frantically on a door at the far end, looking so jittery that he was going to shake himself out of his own shoes any microt. "I agree. Something is wrong. Let's g--oh, frell!" Tauvo stumbled back, dragging John with him, away from the mouth of the alley.

John snapped around to look, and saw what his friend had seen. A Scarran. Huge, hulking, eclipsing the sunlight from the street outside. Larger than the 'ambassador' back on the Royal Planet, and twice as scary-looking.

Tauvo had his pistol out, firing wildly at the approaching monster. The shots had no effect, though, and the Scarran kept advancing towards them.

"Suggestions?" John shouted over the din.

"Call for reinforcements!"

John reached for his comms, but before he could activate it he staggered under a blow from behind. He turned, dazed, to see their alien guide swinging doubled fists towards his head, and all fell into blackness.

* * *

She'd been walking for arns, talking until her voice was hoarse, asking for directions to an apothecary. Aeryn wondered if the boys were having any better luck, and hoped they hadn't just stopped off for a raslak and forgotten her.

It was only toward mid-afternoon that she finally started to make progress. One shop owner admitted to a sketchy knowledge of an herb shop several blocks away, though all he could do was point vaguely and wish her luck. With an indication that her target was close, she conducted a modified cross-hatch search pattern over the next dozen blocks, gleaning clues from passers-by and homing in on a final destination within less than an arn.

The herb shop was tiny, tucked into a narrow space between an arms merchant and a refreshment house. Given the latter neighbor, she was unsurprised to see Nashtin cleansing pills displayed prominently in the front of the shop as she entered. She even purchased one, since her dose from that morning had faded during the long march in the heat of the day, before presenting her list of Zhaan's herbs to the proprietor.

The shopkeeper had all but one, though she warned that a couple were old and might not be as potent as they once were. When Aeryn asked about the last item, the apothecary assured her that she knew another shop where it was available. She even offered to have her apprentice take the order to the other shop, and then deliver all of her purchases to their transport pod for a small fee. Aeryn agreed, more than willing to spend a little money to save herself any more walking.

As the young assistant left at a trot carrying her order and the currency to pay for it, Aeryn sat down on a bench in the shade outside the refreshment house and commed Lt. Crais.

There was no answer. She tried Crichton, with the same result. "If those two are sitting somewhere drinking the day away, Zhaan's going to have a couple of new patients," she growled under her breath. "Pilot?"

There was a microt or two delay, and then the calm voice of Moya's servicer came back. "Yes, Officer Sun?"

"Can you track down Lt. Crais and Crewman Crichton, please? They aren't answering their comms."

Twenty microts passed, then thirty. "Pilot?"

"Officer Sun...." Pilot's voice was somewhat agitated now. "I fear there may be a problem."

"What kind of problem?"

"There is no response from Lt. Crais' comms, not even a carrier signal."

"And Crichton?"

"The signal from his comms is weak and scrambled, as if it is partially shielded or near some source of heavy interference. I cannot localize it."

Aeryn took a deep breath, fighting down a surge of fear. "All right. Please inform the Admiral of the situation. I will begin searching immediately. Can you at least give me an approximate location for Crichton?" She wished, at that moment, that the traitor Scorpius was still with them, to track down Crichton as he'd done twice before using whatever mysterious means he'd had.

The directions Pilot gave were for an area over a metra away on the opposite side of the market. An area several blocks wide, as the signal was too sporadic to trace more specifically. After taking a slight detour to the spaceport to retrieve a heavier pulse rifle, Aeryn marched quickly towards the location Pilot had indicated, ignoring the complaints of her sore feet.

* * *

_Waking in the hospital room, he has no memory at first of what came before. What happened? He remembers...Tauvo, and Aeryn. Drinking himself senseless. Everything thereafter is fuzzy. Is he still drunk? Hallucinating?_

_Whoa...Dad. _

_No, not Dad. Not Earth. Can't be. _

_Mind-frell. Damn it, been here, done this, got the frelling t-shirt._

_Out! Gotta get out! Let me go!_

_Wait...Aeryn? What's Aeryn doing here? What the frell is going on?_

* * *

It took less than half an arn to reach the center point of the area Pilot had identified. The admiral had confirmed her decision to search with an order to do just that, and had begun his own efforts with the planetary authorities. She held little hope for any results from that quarter, but as long as he was distracted by that, he was the perfect superior officer, letting her do her job without interference.

This wasn't part of the main market area frequented by visitors. She saw only locals, a stocky race of common laborers, and not many of them. But for all of that, Aeryn felt her heart sinking as she looked around her. The area was a nightmare: too large, too many places to hide. I would take monens to search it on her own. A mission like this called for the deployment of at least a company.

"Pilot," she called up to the ship.

"Yes, Officer Sun?"

"I'm going to need some help. Can you please scan the area for anything...unusual?"

"You will have to be more specific, Officer Sun."

"Frell, I don't know, I'm not a tech. Maybe.... Can Moya resolve biological life signs clearly enough to pick out species differences?"

There was silence for a moment. "I...believe so." Pilot sounded tentative.

"All right, run a scan of this area and look for patterns that don't fit. Everyone I've seen so far belongs to the single native race, so both Crichton and Crais should stand out as different from the rest."

"Very well, Officer Sun. The scans will take approximately five hundred microts."

"Fine." Well, actually, it wasn't fine. Every microt they delayed made it more likely that whatever trouble her friends had encountered would turn fatal, or worse. But berating Pilot would not make the scans run faster.

* * *

_He finally gives in to the absurdity after his meeting with the blue shrink and joins the crazy astronaut wearing Tauvo's face for a trip to the nearest beer._

_After all, if he's going to get his mind frelled with, he might as well enjoy what few perks he can get. They're getting the details right this time, and he's missed the taste of a good brew._

_The bar, of course, is just another freak show. He rocks back on his heels at the door when he sees Scorpius on stage. He's playing the drums, and Pilot is there too, with a set of bongos. John blinks, shrugs, and steps across to the bar. The bartender is busy, tossing bottles left and right like a master juggler. He's dressed appropriately in a white shirt and black vest. The only false note in the costume is the metal mask covering half of his face._

_"Hey Stark," John says, leaning his elbows on the bar. "How're you doin' man? Haven't seen you since that joint on Litigara, after we blasted out of Scorpy's Gammak base."_

_The Stark figure looks at John, confused. "Sorry, friend, must have me mixed up with someone else," he drawls in a deep, Texas twang. "Ain't never been to no town called 'Ligitara'."_

_"Oh. Right, sorry. My mistake. Forgot you weren't real there for a microt. Can I get a couple of beers?"_

* * *

Aeryn caught and interrogated a couple of the area's inhabitants, questioning them about any Sebaceans they'd seen recently. None of the frightened civilians were willing to admit any knowledge, not even with Aeryn's pulse rifle pointed at their heads. Which meant one of two things. Either they were honestly ignorant, or there was something around scarier than she was.

When Pilot finally called back, the news seemed no better.

"My apologies, Officer Sun. There is only one life sign I can clearly read within a half a metra of your location that does not match the local population, and that is yourself."

Aeryn's stomach clenched tighter. That could mean they were both dead.

"Wait...you said '_clearly_ read'. Are there life signs in the area that you can't read clearly?"

"Yes..." Pilot replied tentatively. "At least, I think so. There is an area where my readings are distorted; I am unable to identify or pinpoint the location of any of the life signs there."

"Is it possible that this is the same distortion affecting Crichton's comms?"

"Quite possible. It would defy the laws of probability to find two such unusual phenomena in close proximity."

"All right," Aeryn said, determination returning. "Direct me to the location of this distortion. I'll leave my comms channel open, and hopefully you'll be able to tell when I'm approaching the source by its effect on my signal."

"Dekka 2, premna 3, lerg 2. Less than five hundred motras from your current location."

"Thank you, Pilot." Aeryn did a quick, rough directional computation and set off at a jog towards her target.

"It is possible, Officer Sun, that the distortion effect will prevent any communications at all when you are in direct proximity to the source."

Aeryn didn't break stride. "Fine. When I lose your signal, I'll know I'm close."

* * *

_He runs away from the specter of his dead and disappointed mother in the hospital room, only to encounter a nightmare far worse at the bar where he goes to hide._

_"John?"_

_The weak, agonized voice is all too familiar. It haunts his dreams. John closes his eyes, refusing to look, refusing to let it be real._

_It is the cry of the baby that finally forces him to turn around._

_"John, help me...."_

_Gilina. Her tech issue jumpsuit is stained crimson from the fatal wound in her stomach. She staggers across the empty room, eyes glazed, carrying a bundle wrapped in a blanket. The cries emanate from there, increasing in volume._

_"No," he pleads, rising and backing away. "You're not real."_

_"John, why did you do it?" the ghost demands. "Why did you let us die?"_

_"Stay away from me! You're not real! You're dead!"_

_The baby's cries hitch and choke for a microt before resuming. The blood-stained mother continues to advance. "If you'd told him what he wanted to know, we'd be alive now."_

_John turns, tries to escape, though whether from the vision or from his own guilt, he's not sure. He stumbles, falls over a table and sprawls helpless on the floor._

_The macabre figure of Gilina and her baby, like a perverted depiction of the Madonna and Child, looms over him. A thin stream of blood is now running down the woman's face. She uncovers the child to show him, and John screams louder. The baby, his son, has a small black hole in the center of his forehead, leaking blood onto the blankets. The small, blue eyes gaze at him accusingly._

_"No...please...this is cruel. Please stop...."_

_"You killed us, John."_

_John clenches his eyes shut, tears running down his face. "Please, stop..."_

_"You may as well have pulled the trigger yourself."_

_"Noooooo!" A final, desperate shove pushes the nightmare vision away and John runs. He no longer cares where._

* * *

"Pilot, how am I doing?" She was approaching the area for the second time, from a different direction, attempting to triangulate the center of the interference.

"Interf... ence increasing, Offic... Sun." Pilot's voice faded in and out through the growing static. "... new information... relay to you."

Aeryn stopped moving. "New information, Pilot? You're breaking up; can you increase signal strength?"

A pause. "Is that better?"

The static was still present, but more of the words were getting through. "Yes, Pilot. You said you had new information?"

"Indeed...ficer Sun. I have run several scans of the area... cluding one for thermal variances. There is... building directly ahead of you which reads...warmer than...surrounding environment.... temperature does not appear immediately dangerous.... could affect your coordination with prolonged exposure. I recommend caution."

"Understood."

She gazed at the building directly ahead. This was where Crais and Crichton had to be, somewhere inside. It appeared to be a factory of some type, probably abandoned for many cycles if the rust and trash littering the area were any indication.

Without further pause for reflection, Aeryn shrugged her pulse rifle into a more comfortable position and set out to find her friends.

* * *

_Great, he thinks, as the neural clone he just dubbed 'Harvey' vanishes into thin air, leaving him still cuffed to the chair and helpless. Captured by a Scarran, if Harvey is to be believed. He can't remember. Is he alone? Are his friends prisoners as well, caught up in this same insanity?_

_A chip. In his head. _

_He remembers now--the pain, stabbing through the shocked numbness he'd been swallowed by after Gilina was shot. He never saw Scorpy coming, his eyes locked on the still form sprawled on the floor, but when the spike slammed into the base of his skull, his vision exploded into a flash of light. And then...darkness. His next clear memory is of the radiant Aeryn Sun._

_He needs to get out of here. He needs to get the damn chip out of his head._

_A microt later, all leisure for such ponderings vanishes under the final assault on his reason._

* * *

_Aeryn, Zhaan, and Betal--or at least their psychotic duplicates in this chamber of horrors--hover over him, taunting him with the deepest desires of his subconscious...and a few things he's pretty sure his subconscious has never heard of either. Torn between disgust and desire, he can't muster the will to even struggle._

_Until a fourth figure enters his line of sight, and a shudder of black revulsion overwhelms him._

_The admiral--or rather, D. Logan--is dressed, if one can call it that, in a leather bikini and a full black hood, reminiscent of Scorpius'. The vast expanse of pasty flesh between is exposed, naked, bouncing and jiggling with every perverted movement._

_The fat man shoos the eager women away and stands over him, raising the small whip he holds in one hand, and begins 'punishing' John for all the disrespectful comments he's ever made._

_John struggles not to vomit, rips the metal rail off the hospital bed in a fit of panicked strength, and flees._

* * *

_He wanders through the corridors in a daze, the metal bed rail still dragging from the handcuff on his wrist. Voices assail him, disturbing and grotesque images dance before his eyes, but he no longer has the capacity to react. His mind is reaching a saturation point. Soon, it will spill over and his reason will seep away like water on sand._

_He struggles to remember what the neural clone said. _

_Concentrate._

_Focus._

_Remember reality._

_But what is reality anymore?_

_Wandering outside, blinking at the simulated sunlight, he doesn't see the car come at him until too late. The impact sends him flying._

_Rattled but essentially unhurt--unsurprising, given that he's already walked away from a head-on with the semi today--he looks up to see the cop wearing Captain Crais' face reciting some warped version of the Miranda warning. The words slip through his grasp without leaving any meaning behind._

_The cop loses patience, and a sharp kick to the head sends John flying backwards...into the cushioned seat of Gary Ragel's Mustang convertible._

_It's dark, the sky now filled with stars, but John feels no surprise. Nothing can shock him at this point._

_Or so he thinks._

_"John, there's something I really feel I should tell you." The voice is high-pitched and effeminate, but still familiar, so John turns to look._

_Tauvo Crais, aka Gary Ragel. But all wrong. Oh, so very wrong._

_It's not just the dress--a short-skirted number with spaghetti straps and pink flowers--nor the padded mockeries filling out the ample chest measurement. It's not even the long, platinum-blonde wig, harshly contrasting with the still-present dark eyebrows and beard._

_Even in his lightest moments, Lt. Tauvo Crais has never lost the aura of dangerous competence that screams 'Peacekeeper'. And that isn't strictly a male thing; Aeryn Sun exudes the same air of lethal power, tightly controlled._

_"I have these urges, you see. Urges I can't often satisfy." Gary's face moves gradually closer, presuming to greater and greater intimacy. Despite the darkness, John can see he's wearing eye shadow and lipstick. "My brother wouldn't understand, you see. Our colonial upbringing left him with some odd provincial prejudices."_

_This 'Gary Ragel' persona lacks all traces of Tauvo's inner strength. It is entirely subsumed by the extreme cliché of effeminate helplessness. John feels shivers running up his spine, lacking all of his usual aplomb and tolerance. He's been hit on by men a couple of times--didn't much like it, though he wasn't offended either--but he's never reacted with horror like this._

_Ragel's face is mere inches from his ear now, and he can feel the man's breath on his neck. "You said Aeryn was just a friend, right?"_

_John fumbles. "Well, yeah, I suppose, but--"_

_"Oh good," Ragel breathes. "You see, I've been hoping that you and I could be...more than friends. We could even invite Aeryn to join in, make it a real party!"_

_"Oh, nonononono," John protests, drawing away, only to be yanked back by a strong hand clasping his arm._

_"Oh, yes." Suddenly the danger is back in Tauvo's hijacked face._

* * *

_It gets worse._

_The blue shrink. And his mother...._

_No! He refuses to think about that. It never happened. Couldn't happen._

_And then, suddenly, all of the quiet, insidious subversions of his sanity give way to noise and wild gyrations on the floor of a dance club. John laughs, partly out of relief to have escaped that last nightmare, but mostly an outward sign of an internal shift. The fear and confusion are giving way to anger at last._

_How dare these bastards, whoever they are, do this to him?_

_The tempo of the music increases along with the volume, and the voices taunt him, urging him to let go and dance. But to do so would be to admit defeat, loose his grasp on his own mind and descend into the insanity that beckons._

_Rage builds, pushing aside all temptation to surrender. He wants to fight back, blast his way free of this frelling Hotel California and kill something._

_Physical violence will accomplish nothing. He's already learned that in spades. Nothing he sees or touches here is real; the attack is on his mind and that is where his battles must be waged._

_The disco ball on the ceiling provides focus, something to concentrate on and block out the sounds and images swirling around him. His anger gives him strength, and he embraces it like he's never done before in his life. As they had been in the Aurora chair, powerful emotions are the key to resistance, repelling the invasion of his innermost thoughts._

_Pressure builds, threatening to implode his skull. He fights, building his own pressure of rage from within. Something has to give._

_Crescendo. Louder, brighter, hotter, stronger. Pulse pounding, muscles straining, eyes bleeding._

_And then, everything explodes._

* * *

There was pain, then darkness, and for an instant John Crichton thought he was dead.

Then sound filtered back into his abused ears, a reptilian roar blasting through the silence, followed by pulse fire. John fought to wrench his eyes open, wanting to see the danger he faced even if he was powerless for the moment to fight or flee.

There was no doubt in his mind that this was reality. He hurt, weighed down by a physical and mental fatigue that spoke of exertion beyond normal limits.

A Scarran loomed over him, not more than a body length away and backlit by burning control panels. The huge reptiloid seemed little concerned by the flames, and only slightly annoyed by the pulse fire leaving smudge spots on its armored uniform.

Waves of heat rippled through the air from the creature's extended arm towards the concealed assailant. The pulse fire ceased, the attacker presumably ducking for cover.

The temperature was rising, both from the electrical fires rapidly spreading across the walls and the residual heat from the Scarran's retaliatory attacks. John knew that his would-be rescuer--presumably some member of Moya's complement, perhaps even Aeryn or Tauvo--would soon start to feel the effects. Even early stage heat delirium could lead to a fatal hesitation or mistake.

He had to do something.

Unfortunately, given his current physical condition--half a step above dead, if that--the Scarran was quicker. John had managed to turn over and had barely gotten his hand wrapped around the butt of his pistol when his captor noticed the movement. Two strides carried the hulking alien across the distance, and John felt himself flung into the air like a bungee jumper.

"If you value this one," rumbled the deep voice of the Scarran, who was now holding John mostly upright in front of his body as a shield, "you will hold your fire, Peacekeeper."

John's heart sank. He knew the rules. Not for nothing had he spent all those months memorizing the articles and sub-sections of the Peacekeeper codes. Hostages were officially considered casualties, and were to be treated as such, their safety or welfare no longer any consideration. It prevented enemies from using captured soldiers to shield themselves from attack, since such tactics gained them nothing and only made the attacking Peacekeepers angrier.

Apparently, though, this Scarran hadn't read the rulebook. At any microt, pulse fire would rain down upon him once again, regardless of John's presence.

With the flick of a couple of switches and the depression of a button, John set his pulse pistol, still in the holster, to overload. He kept his hand over it to muffle the sound. If he was going to die anyway, he could at least do his best to take the Scarran with him. Pistol fire might be useless against his armored hide, but maybe the explosion would make the bastard sit up and take notice; if it didn't kill him outright, it might give the hidden Peacekeeper an opening to finish him.

The expected pulse fire, however, never materialized. The Scarran's threat hung in the air, and John wondered what the concealed soldier was waiting for.

Slowly, cautiously, a figure separated itself from the shadows and resolved into Aeryn Sun, still holding her pulse rifle at the ready. The expression on her face was strained.

"Release him," she said, her voice low and shaking with emotion.

The Scarran hissed, and John felt a wash of heat scald his left ear. Turning slightly, he saw the horse-like head leaning over his shoulder.

He acted almost without thought. Yanking the pistol out of his holster as the warning whine rose towards critical, he shoved it, muzzle first, into the monster's gaping maw.

The rest seemed to happen in slow motion. John could see Aeryn's eyes widen in surprise as the Scarran reared back. The huge arm across his chest let go, and John fell forward, off balance.

He hit the ground, yelled "Get down!" to Aeryn, and tried to scramble for cover himself. The blast sent him sprawling back to the ground before he'd gone a single step, and stabbing pains shot across his back and legs. Then darkness reigned once more.

* * *

When she finally tracked down her quarry after arns of fruitless searching, Aeryn Sun took one look and swore, silently and at length, in every language she had ever heard.

A Scarran. Frelling hezmana.

She gripped the rifle, intensely relieved that she'd taken the time to retrieve it from the transport pod but wishing at the same time that it was something else. Something bigger.

A lot bigger.

Scarran hides were thick, and extremely heat resistant. Pulse pistols were worse than useless. Her pulse rifle was only marginally better; it would take several shots in succession to burn through and do any damage.

John Crichton stood, transfixed, in the center of the room, surrounded by some kind of energy field which the nearby Scarran was manipulating. Though she'd never see it before, Aeryn suspected that this was one of the standard Scarran torture devices she'd once been briefed about. A neural hyper-stimulator, intended to drive the victim insane and completely break down his mental defenses before a telepathic scan.

Standard procedure for a situation such as this would be to retreat and call for reinforcements. Reinforcements, however, were sadly lacking here. And even if they weren't, Aeryn couldn't make herself leave and abandon John to this.

She crept closer, an easy task while the Scarran was so distracted by his victim. "Increasing to kelvo eight," she heard him state for whatever recording device was keeping track of the interrogation.

Crichton's body convulsed under the onslaught, and Aeryn could wait no longer. Breaking cover, she opened fire, not at the Scarran but at his equipment.

Pulse fire ripped efficiently through the delicate circuitry, shorting out panels and setting the entire console aflame. The energy field surrounding Crichton flared once and then winked out, leaving the human to collapse to the floor in a boneless heap.

Now she redirected her fire onto John's captor, raining shots down upon his back as fast as she could depress the trigger.

The Scarran roared, enraged and provoked by the stinging bolts. Spinning, he saw her, and with a growl of menace raised his arm and let fly with a wave of heat from his own body. No Scarran was ever truly unarmed while he still possessed the heat gland.

Aeryn ducked behind a pillar, wincing as the wave brushed by her. Sweat was already breaking out across her back and forehead.

Twice more she broke cover for an instant, holding the Scarran at bay, then ducking back as the next wave of heat flew at her. She could feel the temperature rising all around her, and her shirt was growing damp.

There was a pause. Listening, Aeryn caught the rustle of fabric, a low growl, and then a grunt of surprise issuing from something other than a Scarran throat.

"If you value this one, you will hold your fire, Peacekeeper."

Peeking cautiously around the edge of the pillar, Aeryn saw the Scarran, now standing with Crichton's body held up like a shield in front of his body. She couldn't tell, at that distance, if the human was conscious; he hung limply from the Scarran's grip.

Procedure said to ignore him and continue the attack. Procedure said that hostages were nothing and prisoners were casualties of war.

Procedure could go frell itself.

She stood up and stepped out of her hiding place, keeping her rifle pointed squarely at the Scarran's head. She couldn't just shoot John. Not after all the effort she'd put into finding him.

"Release him," she ordered, though the tightness in her throat turned the command into more of a plea. She heard the Scarran hiss in amusement, and then everything happened too fast.

"Get down!" John called out, but she was already diving for cover, her instincts having identified the wail of a pulse pistol about to go critical. The explosion threw her to the ground, her ears ringing, but she turned quickly with her rifle leading the way, just in case the Scarran had somehow survived.

She was just in time to see the headless corpse topple over.

Crichton was unconscious when she reached him, his clothes smoldering in several places where burning shrapnel had struck him. She smothered the burning spots with her hand, scalding herself in the process and feeling blood well up through the scorched holes. She ignored the wounds for the moment, though, and started dragging him out on his back, away from the flames and heat.

She stopped at last in a corridor that was mercifully cool, though she could still smell the smoke, when Crichton groaned and tried to wrench his arms out of her hands.

"John?" she called out to him, holding his face between her hands and forcing him to look at her. "John, talk to me!"

His mouth gaped open and closed several times with no sound as his eyes wandered, but then he seemed to focus and see her.

"A-Aeryn? Are you...really here?"

She nodded. "Searched half this world for you."

He glanced around at the featureless gray walls. "Where am I?"

"Still on the commerce planet, but underground. You were captured by a Scarran. Do you remember what happened?"

He started to shake his head, then stopped, eyes narrowing. "I remember...he said...trying to break me. Standard method of interrogation."

Aeryn hadn't realized that John had gotten that briefing, too.

John looked away, focusing on some point behind Aeryn's shoulder. She turned, but there was nothing there. He tried to speak further, but it was as if the words were fighting him. "He said...Sc-Sc-Scorpy...."

"Scorpius did something? Did he betray you to the Scarrans?"

"P-p-put...a...neur...neu... a n-n-n-n-n...." The incomprehensible stuttering faded gradually into a confused blankness, as if John had forgotten what he was going to say.

"John? What about Scorpius?"

"Huh? What about him?"

"You were saying he'd done something."

John's forehead crinkled, then he shook his head. "Dunno. Weird trip." He pushed back with his elbows, trying to sit up, but quickly dropped back with a wince and a groan.

"You're hurt," Aeryn pointed out, and John rolled his eyes.

"Thank you, Dr. Fairchild, for that brilliant diagnosis."

She gently turned him over, ignoring the typically incomprehensible retort, and examined his wounds. "You got hit by shrapnel in your shoulder and your left leg, but it doesn't look too serious. I imagine the burns hurt worse."

John's voice was strained. "Probably right."

The smoke was starting to get thicker, rolling down the hall along the ceiling. "Do you think you can walk? We've got to get out of here before the whole place burns down."

John grunted and tried to push himself up; Aeryn helped lever him to his feet and steadied him, then started to lead him away. "Wait," John said, lurching to a stop. "Where's Tauvo?"

Aeryn shook her head. "I don't know. Not here; I searched this whole building before I found you. There was no sign of him."

John grew panicked. "You're sure? He could be back there, in that fire, or chained up nearby...."

"I'm sure." She pulled them forward again, limping awkwardly towards the stairwell back to the surface level. "I only saw you, and there was no place nearby to conceal anyone else. Was Crais with you when you were captured?"

John was silent, lost in the struggle to remember, as they dragged themselves up the stairs and out onto the street. Smoke was already leaking out of some of the first floor windows.

"I...think so," John said, the strain showing on his face as Aeryn lowered him back to the ground. "We were shopping for Zhaan's herbs...someone was tailing us."

"The Scarran?"

"No...no, it was some weaselly little alien, one of the natives, I think. Tauvo and I nabbed him. Son of a bitch spun some line of bull about helping us find the herbs we needed."

"And then?" Aeryn prompted.

"I remember...an alley. Dark, dead end. I think that's where they got us. You think Tauvo got away?" John's eyes were hopeful, pleading with Aeryn to confirm his guess.

She shook her head sadly. "I don't think so. Pilot couldn't find his comms signal--"

John interrupted, fighting to get back to his feet. "His comms were probably damaged in the fight. Bet he's been doing exactly the same as you, trying to find me, or find you. We gotta go find him."

"Crichton--"

"Which way to the market? I think if I can find where we started, I can retrace our steps to the alley. We should start there."

Aeryn saw blind determination in Crichton's face, a refusal to accept any possibility but his own theory. "John," she tried again gently, but he plowed right over her.

"Get me to the market, Aeryn. We gotta go find him."

* * *

Two arns later. It was long past nightfall, and Aeryn was exhausted, using the last dregs of trained willpower to keep herself going. John looked at least as bad as she did, and probably felt worse, but he pushed them forward at a desperate pace. Aeryn was amazed; half a solar day of Scarran torture ought to have had him seeking a med bay and heavy painkillers. Something was driving him.

John kept up a running monologue the whole time, arguing with himself about which direction, which landmarks, backtracking and retracing half a dozen times, until he finally found a place that seemed familiar.

"There it is!" John finally cried, his voice breaking with fatigue. He lurched into a limping jog, disappearing through a shadowed opening along the dark and deserted street. Aeryn followed at a more subdued pace.

Rounding the corner some microts later, she paused to let her eyes adjust to the even deeper gloom of the alley. Crichton was easy to spot, bright against the black in his light brown jacket and pants. He was kneeling near the back wall, perfectly still, hunched over something on the ground.

She had to get within five motras before she could see the form of a man dressed in black, lying sprawled in front of Crichton. Another body, this one an alien, lay a few motras away with blackened pulse wounds showing how it died.

She felt a flare of hope at the realization that the first figure, lying with the human's hand resting on his chest, was indeed Lt. Crais, and he was breathing. Then she got close enough to see his face.

Ghastly burns and blisters marred the once-handsome features. One eye was swollen shut, but the other stared sightlessly at the sky overhead. His clothing was charred, and the comms badge clipped to his shoulder was seared to slag. No wonder Pilot hadn't been able to get a signal.

The body did indeed still draw breath. Harsh, shallow, rattling gasps. A mockery of life where none truly existed any longer.

"It's the living death," John murmured without looking up. "Isn't it?"

Aeryn swallowed, unable to find her voice. Finally, she managed to choke out a whispered "Yes."

She cursed herself silently. In her earlier diversion to the transport pod for the pulse rifle, she had neglected to take a medical kit. A tragic oversight, in this case. A kill shot would have been the cleanest and most painless solution.

She didn't have one, though, and she refused to force a man she had called friend to suffer that long before being granted release. He'd waited far too long already.

But first she had to deal with Crichton; she feared he might fight her on this, insist that somehow Tauvo Crais could be saved. Kneeling down next to him, she expected to see grief and tears, the emotions she'd been trained to set aside. She'd seen him in this situation before, after all, when Gilina died.

She turned to look at the human's face and was shocked to see nothing there. Her own stoic mask was reflected back at her from John's usually expressive face. What was wrong? Did he not realize what she had to do?

"John," she said gently, "I need to--"

"Give me your gun."

The voice was quiet, mild, with no more inflection than if he'd asked her to pass a plate of food cubes. "What?" She had to have heard him wrong.

"Give me your damn pistol, Aeryn." There was emotion there now. She could see it just beneath the surface, straining at the seams of John's fragile control, and she knew what he was asking.

"John, I'll do it. You don't have to--"

"Yes," he snapped, turning to face her with burning eyes. "I do."

It wasn't grief he was holding in check, she realized. It was pure rage, deep and powerful enough to burn this planet to a cinder.

"He was my best friend, Aeryn," John explained in a tight, thin voice. "He...died...trying to protect me. That's the only reason he was here; he knew I couldn't take care of myself for shit."

Aeryn drew her pistol from the holster slowly, then paused, uncertain. "John...."

He looked back down at Tauvo's ruined face and closed his eyes. "It's my responsibility, Aeryn. I owe him so much, and this is all I have left to give him." His bloodshot, intense blue gaze turned back to bore into her in wordless supplication.

She handed over her pulse pistol. John sat holding it, frozen in place, for a long time. He said something in a quiet, prayerful voice, perhaps a plea for forgiveness, and raised the weapon.

Aeryn stood back and watched as the once-innocent human prepared to deliberately take a life for the first time.

TBC ...


	14. Welcome to the Machine

**Episode 13 - Welcome To The Machine**

_"It doesn't look like we're gonna get out of this one, and if we're gonna go down, I wanna go down swinging." -- John Crichton  
_

Aeryn Sun stepped out onto the platform overlooking the Prowler flight deck, where the fighters were serviced and prepped for launch. She tried to look as if she belonged there, though it had been nearly two cycles since the last time she flew her Prowler out of this hangar.

She saw a few familiar faces among the pilots and techs, but at first could not find the one person she was looking for. Then he stepped out from behind a Prowler on the far side of the bay. Pausing, he spoke to a tech with her arms shoulder-deep inside the hetch drive assembly.

He looked awful. Gaunt, tense, eyes dark with exhaustion. Had the man slept at all since their return from Moya and the Uncharteds? Certainly he hadn't been in his quarters any of the times she'd gone looking for him.

Nodding in response to something the tech said, John meandered off across the flight line towards another Prowler sitting at one of the refueling stations.

From her position several motras above the flight deck, Aeryn saw the danger before anyone else could have. An impatient pilot, eager to be out on patrol, had rolled his ship out of its slot at the rear of the bay and begun taxiing full-speed towards the open bay doors. Due to angles and obstructions, neither the pilot nor John could see the other yet, but Aeryn could see that their courses were going to intersect within microts.

"Look out!" she cried, striving to make herself heard across the vast and noisy space.

John turned. Whether it was due to her warning or the fact that he could suddenly see the rapier-pointed nose of the Prowler bearing down upon him, she wasn't sure. He had only a microt or so to react, and Aeryn's heart sank when she saw him freeze in place, directly in the Prowler's path.

Then, just when it seemed too late, John flashed into motion, diving and rolling across the deck out of harm's way faster than she would have thought him capable of, out of harm's way.

The Prowler continued on without pausing, its pilot either unaware or, more likely, unconcerned by his close call. Aeryn remembered occasions in her past when something of the sort had occurred, and recalled how little she herself had cared at the time about the lives of the mere techs who cared for her ship.

Rushing down the ramp and across the deck, taking care not to encounter similar hazards, she reached John just as he was getting to his feet. She came up from behind him, and as she got closer she could hear him muttering under his breath. The words weren't clear enough to understand, but the tone of voice was familiar enough to set off alarms.

"John?" She touched his shoulder.

He spun, slapping her arm away and dropping into a practiced defensive stance. Thanks to his agitated state, it took a microt for him to recognize her and relax. Something behind his eyes lit up and he almost smiled, but then he pushed it away and settled his face into a neutral expression.

"Aeryn." He looked down at his grey jumpsuit and brushed off some imaginary dust before looking back up at her.

"Surprised to see me?" It had been almost a monen since their return. John had made no effort to contact her during that time, and she hadn't even been able to find him until now. It was a big ship.

"Nah." He shrugged and turned away, continuing on his former path towards the refueling station. "I figured you'd track me down eventually, though I had hoped you'd take the hint." He examined the readings on the panel and turned the power switch back to standby.

Aeryn crossed her arms, leaning against the panel next to him and glaring at his unresponsive face. "Hint?" It was frelling amazing how little sense the human could make, even when the individual words translated. "John, I haven't seen you since we got back from Moya. I was told you'd been promoted, reassigned--"

John burst into harsh laughter. "Yeah. _Promoted_. Sub-Officer John Crichton, at your service." He sketched a small, self-deprecating bow. "You know something, Officer Sun? Our dear Captain Crais has a very twisted sense of humor." He grimaced and looked away, glancing around at the techs and pilots milling about the bay.

"Why? What happened?" The news of his promotion had come as something of a shock when she heard of it. It typically took several cycles, or else some act of exceptional valor, for a crewman to rise to sub-officer.

John started to speak, then shut his mouth with a snap. He shook his head. "You shouldn't be here, Aeryn. It's not safe." He turned away.

She was about to make some comment about stating the obvious, considering what had just nearly happened, when John made a gesture that froze her blood in her veins. He tried to make it seem like he was merely combing his hair back, but that irritated brush past his ear was too hauntingly familiar to mistake. Added to the muttering a few microts ago, now she was sure.

"You never went to the med bay, did you? You're still having visions." It had been weekens after Tauvo's death before she confronted him about his increasingly erratic behavior. He'd finally admitted, after several attempts to put her off, that he was having occasional hallucinations of Scorpius, as if the half-breed were speaking to him. She'd agreed not to report it, on the condition that he would seek treatment immediately upon their return to the carrier.

John shook his head, though whether he was confirming her guess about the med bay or trying to deny the visions altogether, she couldn't be sure.

"John, you promised you'd get help. If you're unfit for duty--"

"I'm fine, Aeryn. It's under control." He walked away, leaving her scrambling to catch up.

"You are _not_ fine, Crichton, not if you're seeing and hearing things that aren't there. It's dangerous, especially in this place, where you can't afford any distractions."

He whirled around and pushed her against the nearest vertical bulkhead. His voice dropped to a guttural whisper. "Fine, go ahead and report me. Give Crais the excuse he needs to finish the job!"

Aeryn rocked back at John's violence and intensity. "What are you--"

He placed a hand against the wall on either side of her and brought his face close to hers. She could feel his breath against her neck. "You want to know why I'm stuck down here instead of back in my lab? Crais. He blames me for getting Tauvo killed. Hell, he wanted to rip me apart with his bare hands, but he couldn't, not with the admiral looking over his shoulder. So he decided to screw me instead."

"Screw...you?"

"By 'promoting' me. The techs and specialists working the Prowler bays have the most dangerous non-combat jobs in the entire fleet, Aeryn. They usually assign the job of supervising them to disgraced officers as a demotion; it's considered beneath a soldier's dignity. 'Grot work', I think you'd call it. Crais actually had to promote me to give me the job. He can't kill me himself, so he decided to humiliate me--not that I give a damn about that--and probably hopes I'll get myself killed here and save him the trouble."

Aeryn had been afraid that the captain might react badly to Tauvo's death. She'd known the Crais brothers were close; it was fairly common for siblings to be recruited together, and the emotional ties, while strongly discouraged, persisted in many cases despite all official efforts. It was not unheard-of for a surviving sibling to want vengeance for a brother or sister's death, even when, as in this case, it was grossly misdirected.

It took a microt for Aeryn to recall what had triggered John's sudden revelation. She put a hand on his face. "But why haven't you seen the med techs? No matter what the captain did, it doesn't change the fact that you need help."

John backed away from her touch, visibly retreating back inside himself and crossing his arms over his chest. "Aeryn, think about it. If I report this little problem of mine, it'll be all the excuse Crais needs to do what he wanted to do in the first place. I'd be declared irrevocably damaged and 'retired' within a solar day!"

She stopped short. As much as she hated to admit it, John might be right. Transit madness, if that was what John had, was a perfectly curable condition that afflicted a small percentage of conscripted soldiers. Sebacean soldiers, that is. But in an alien, especially one out of favor with command? Would they even bother to try?

John stepped closer again. "Really, Aeryn, I'm okay. It's not even as bad as it was before."

She cocked her head and made a show of looking him up and down. "Your appearance says otherwise."

John smiled ruefully and shrugged, then turned his eye to something over her shoulder. The smile vanished.

Turning to look, Aeryn saw a pair of Prowler pilots eyeing them disapprovingly.

"Aeryn," John said quietly. "You should go. I may be on Crais' shit list, but I don't want to put you there, too. That's why I've tried to stay away from you."

She gave him a scathing look and prepared to let him know exactly what she thought of that. She could look after herself, frell him. But before she could formulate the words, someone called her name.

"Sun!" She turned to see Vikko Kranda, now a senior officer and squadron leader, approaching from behind her. "You come down here to get a look at some real pilots?"

It was good to see him; he had been a member of her unit back when she was flying Prowlers, and a long-time, friendly rival. "Of course," she called back, matching his teasing tone. "Have you seen any?"

Kranda laughed.

Aeryn turned back to John, wanting to finish their conversation before she got caught up in reminiscences, only to find that he had taken advantage of her momentary distraction to slip away.

_Frelling human._

* * *

Sitting by an artificial lake in one of the carrier's forty or so planetary terrains, John felt he could breathe again. It was almost like being back on Earth, except that the sky was an arching roof of metal, and it was too quiet. There were no mosquitoes biting, no songbirds calling from the treetops, no ducks in the lake. Not quite real, but as close as he could get in this artificial world he now inhabited.

He came to these huge chambers on nights when sleep eluded him, or was simply too painful to contemplate. Few ventured here during the arns when the deck lighting dimmed to simulate a planetary night, except the commando teams during training exercises. As long as he picked a terrain that wasn't scheduled for use, he could sit alone and enjoy the smell of growing things, undisturbed and free to think in peace. He hardly saw his quarters anymore.

The incident today, with the Prowler, and Aeryn, was giving him a lot to think about. He'd known, intellectually, that the flight deck was a dangerous place to work--hell, Crais had all but gloated about it--but today's events had driven the fact home. Maybe, instead of resigning himself to the situation, he ought to get off his ass and start looking for ways to fix it. Wouldn't that just twist Crais' tail, if he took this disgrace of a job that no one else wanted, and not only survived it, but succeeded? He thought Tauvo would have liked that.

If for nothing else, he should do it for the techs, in Gilina's memory. Their lives were harsh, and their duties dangerous, even under the best of circumstances. Anything he could do to make their lot a bit less onerous in a world that failed to appreciate their importance would be an accomplishment he could be proud of.

A faint voice whispered in the dark corners behind his ears, speaking of traps and fear and giving up hope. John shook his head like a shying horse, though it never helped. He picked up a stylus and the Peacekeeper version of a scientist's notebook, abandoning his current train of thought for the moment. The whispers faded and blessed silence reigned once again inside his mind. Whatever the voice and the visions of Scorpius were, there was only one thing guaranteed to banish them. They never bothered him when he was working on wormhole theory. If he worked on it long enough, they might even let him sleep.

Arns passed while he scribbled notes and half-formed equations across the pages. He was on the right track, he was pretty sure, but there was just too much information missing. He had too many crazy theories, and only actually conducting tests could tell him whether they were, in fact, crazy. Without a lab, without his equipment, he had to rely solely on his own mind. It was frustrating, but he kept working, because sometimes a bit of knowledge would seem to drop down out of thin air and fall into place.

"So this is where you've been hiding."

He jumped, the stylus scratching a wild line across the page at the unexpected voice. It was familiar, though. He closed his eyes in frustration and didn't look up.

"You look like shit, Crichton. When was the last time you slept?"

Aeryn knelt down on the ground beside him, and he couldn't help but meet her eyes, half-amused by her atypically proper usage of the English epithet. He just shook his head. He didn't want to lie, but he was reluctant to admit the truth, which was that he didn't remember. Had it been two nights ago? Three?

"How'd you find me?" he asked by way of misdirection.

"You weren't in your quarters. Again. So I tried to think of where else you might go. This is the third vacant terrain reconstruction I've checked."

"Hmm." She knew him so well. John turned his eyes away from her face, back down to his notes. Pretending that he didn't miss her desperately was so much easier when she wasn't standing _right there_.

"We didn't finish our conversation."

Damn her for being such a stubborn wench. "Aeryn, I already told you, I don't want you getting caught up in all this. Crais blames me--"

"John, you blamed yourself, too. But there wasn't anything you could have done."

"I know that, now, thanks to you and Zhaan beating it into my head. But I do understand where Crais is coming from. He's lost his brother, and he needs someone to blame. I was there, I survived, and I'm an easy target."

Aeryn dropped down to sit on the ground facing him, legs curled under her. She looked puzzled. "You're not angry with him?"

"Oh, you bet your ass I'm angry! And if Tauvo was here he'd be kickin' Bialar's ass _for_ me. That's why I'm not gonna let the bastard beat me."

Aeryn grinned, one of those full-strength, mega-watt smiles that made his heart turn somersaults. "That," she announced proudly, pointing a finger right at his face, "is the Crichton I know!"

He slapped her finger gently away in mock annoyance, snorting derisively but flushing with secret pleasure at her approval.

But, no. This was wrong. He had to stop this, for her, no matter how much it hurt to lose it. "Listen, Aeryn," he started, getting serious again, "I know it sucks, but you know as well as I do that you can't be hanging out with me right now. Crais has made me a pariah, even more than I was before. I'm a leper, poison to anyone who touches me. We've got to stay away from each other, or people will talk."

Aeryn's smile turned instantly into an angry scowl. "Let them talk."

John took a deep breath and decided to try complete and utter honesty. "Aeryn, I know you better than that. Your career means a lot to you, and I don't want you throwing it away for my sake. Besides, if Crais gets another burr up his ass and decides you were involved, you could find yourself reassigned to something twice as dangerous as Marauders.

"You know, better than anyone that this past cycle has been hell for me. First Gilina, then Tauvo. I think I've accepted that neither one of their deaths was my fault. But that doesn't change the fact that they're both dead _because_ of me. Because they were close to me, in the wrong place, at the wrong time. I've lost two friends already. I couldn't stand it if I lost you, too."

She sat quietly, no longer glaring daggers, and the silence stretched out over many microts. John watched as hints of emotion played over her face, saying things she could not find words to express. There was pain and loss written there, and he suddenly remembered that she, too, had lost friends. Gilina and Tauvo were probably among the first people in her life that Aeryn had allowed to get that close to her. Her stoic façade had fooled him into thinking it didn't affect her as much, but perhaps, underneath, she was in just as much pain as he was.

"I don't want to lose you, either," she finally said, simple and to the point, confirming his guess. The words may have mirrored his own, but the tone with which she spoke gave them a much different meaning. There was something else there, hiding in the shadows behind her eyes, something he couldn't read.

He felt his resolve waver. He needed her. They needed each other. But how could he put her at risk?

"How about here?"

The question came out of left field with no referent. "What?"

"This place. There doesn't seem to be anyone else here." She gestured, encompassing the entire environment.

"Not while the lights are out like this; I've hardly ever seen anyone else come in." It wasn't dark, by any stretch, but the warm glow that mimicked the feel of sunlight on his skin was absent for these few arns during the sleep cycle.

"Then why don't we meet here? It's quiet. We can talk all we want, and no one will see and report me for fraternizing with you."

John thought about it, then looked around. "What about surveillance?" He'd grown used to the idea that he was being watched on this ship, though he still didn't like it.

"Difficult in these chambers because of the large amount of open space. And I doubt they devote much attention to areas that are typically empty. Crais' pique notwithstanding, we're simply not that important. If some security officer sees us on his monitors, he'll just assume we've come for some private recreation and ignore us."

John felt a quick thrill up his spine at those words, as he wondered for just a microt if Aeryn was actually suggesting....

But then he dismissed the thought with a wry smile. It was entirely his own imagination; there had been no hint of innuendo in her voice. _Yer getting' horny there, boy._

It was an odd sensation, after nearly two cycles of friendship, to suddenly be consciously aware of Aeryn as an attractive woman.

Ah, well, he'd deal with that some other time. For the moment, there was only her brilliant compromise, with which he decided he was in full agreement. It would be a risk, but a small one, and it would be worth everything if he didn't have to go through all of this alone anymore.

They talked for arns, catching up on their time apart. And when the voices started whispering again, he ignored them.

* * *

Aeryn leaned back and took a sip of her drink, before setting it back on the table. She occupied a table beneath the stylized bird emblem on the wall of the lounge. Alone.

This was one of the aspects of flying Marauders that she had the most trouble adjusting to. Prowler pilots tended to congregate off-shift with their squad mates, to talk and drink and play games. Marauder crews, though, after spending so many days or weekens crammed into a small space with the same people, almost invariably went their separate ways, in search of privacy, or at least different faces, when they returned to base.

Aeryn and her new crew had just returned from such a mission, and she was relishing the chance to just sit. It had been a tough battle, spanning several solar days, as part of a task force detailed to put down an attempted coup on a Peacekeeper protectorate world near the border. They were all tired and looking forward to an extended rest.

She wondered if John would be in their spot by the lake tonight, and hoped he would be. They'd never been able to make plans, of course. Between her own training and time on missions, and John's heavy schedule and uncertain sleep habits, their free time had only managed to coincide about one solar day in ten for the past three monens.

A loud babble of voices drew Aeryn's attention to the door, where a group of Prowler pilots was making a noisy entrance. Aeryn recognized some of the faces; it was Henta's squadron, part of the same Icarian Company she had once flown with herself.

Henta spotted Aeryn while she was getting a drink and came over to join her. "Hey Sun," she greeted with typical post-mission exuberance, "you just get in too?"

Aeryn nodded, waving Henta to take a seat. They spent some time comparing their experiences during the engagement; Henta's squad had been with the Prowlers providing air support, while Aeryn's crew had been in the thick of the ground fighting.

After a while, a third pilot joined them. Senior Officer Kranda, however, looked far angrier.

"Bad fortune during the battle?" Aeryn guessed with some sympathy. This had been Kranda's first major engagement since becoming squad leader; the unit's performance would have a major impact on the course of his career from this point forward.

"No, no," Kranda replied, sitting down heavily. "The battle went well, actually. Fourteen kills for the squad, and only one Prowler damaged. It was after we got back that everything went to hezmana."

"What happened?" Henta asked, bringing out the cards and chits for the pilots' favorite game of bahknor.

Kranda grimaced. "Some stupid tech was too slow getting out of the way when we pulled in, and that frelling deck officer blew a pulse chamber over it. You'd think he was a tech himself, the way he panders to them. Not only did I have to listen to his prating complaints, but he actually grounded my entire squad for the next weeken!"

Henta froze in shock, mid-deal. "What? He can't do that, can he? He's a grot! You rank him by two grades, at least!"

Kranda's face was downright murderous. "The fekkik quoted me chapter and subsection of the regs, citing 'overdue maintenance issues' for all my ships. And he had the audacity to smile about it."

Aeryn was almost afraid to ask; she thought she could guess precisely _which_ flight deck officer was making himself so popular. "So what are you going to do about it?"

The senior officer laughed ruefully and shook his head. "A couple of my guys already tried to put the drannit in his place. He may act like a frelling tech, but he fights like a commando. Wonder which branch he got busted out of?"

_Oh, for the love of Chilnak..._. They didn't know. Somehow, probably due to his long absences and obscure postings, John Crichton's identity as an alien had been forgotten. His appearance was so perfectly Sebacean that there was nothing to make him stand out.

_Well, unless he opens his mouth._

Aeryn certainly wasn't going to be the one to enlighten them. At some point in the past few monens, John had apparently learned to defend himself far better than she remembered. She wondered what else he'd been keeping from her when they talked. In any case, though, if the pilots he was angering knew he wasn't Sebacean, no fighting prowess in the universe would keep him safe.

Henta, oblivious to her preoccupation, piped in. "I guess you haven't had to deal with him up in the Marauder bays, Aeryn, but this guy has been a pain in our eema for probably a quarter cycle now."

Curiosity overcame Aeryn's common sense. "What else has he done?"

* * *

Aeryn marched through the doors of the terrain reconstruction deck and scanned the area. If he wasn't here, she was going to hunt him down wherever he was, no matter how public, and make him explain himself. At gunpoint, if necessary.

Fortunately for John, he was already there waiting for her. He was certainly aware that the task force had returned, given his earlier confrontation, so perhaps he'd been expecting her.

He looked up as she approached, his expression shadowed and somber but brightening somewhat upon seeing her.

"Hey," he called out as she came into earshot. She didn't reply until she'd taken her usual seat with her back against a convenient tree.

"What the frell do you think you are doing?" she demanded without preamble, glaring at him with her arms crossed.

"Nice to see you, too, Aeryn." John's smile was confused, but conciliatory.

She didn't answer, having no patience for frelling small talk.

"You're gonna have to be more specific, Aeryn," he finally said, looking puzzled and not a little worried.

"I just spoke to Kranda," she explained in slow, menacing tones. "Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed?"

John's earlier dark expression returned, clouding his face again, his forehead furrowing in barely-repressed anger. "Your _buddy_ Kranda killed one of my techs, Aeryn," he growled. "He wasn't more than half a cycle out of training, and Kranda ran right over him because he was being too much of a frelling cowboy to watch where he was going!"

Aeryn tilted her head. She wasn't familiar with the term koo-boy, but she got the general idea. "John, you told me yourself that the launch bays are a dangerous place to work--"

He stopped her with a raised hand. "But they don't have to be, that's the problem! In the past three monens, I've put in just a few basic safety precautions, and we've cut the accident rate nearly in half!"

Aeryn sat back. Henta and Kranda hadn't mentioned that small detail when they'd been regaling her with their complaints. All they cared about was the inconvenience.

John went on, looking disgusted but speaking more calmly. "Now I just have to get your Prowler jockeys to stop racking up a higher body count on the flight deck than they do on the battlefield. If it takes knocking a few heads together, then that's what I'll do." His hands, resting on his upraised knees, clenched and relaxed over and over as he spoke.

The disparity in status and importance of techs versus soldiers was a topic she and John had discussed before in their night-time perambulations. Thanks to her own friendly relationship with Gilina Renaez, not to mention having spent so many weekens in a half-destroyed Marauder being held together by the skills of a single tech, Aeryn was probably more receptive to John's arguments than anyone else aboard. "I'm not saying you're wrong, John, but things have always been this way. Techs simply aren't valued the way soldiers are. They're considered little more than tools, to be discarded and replaced if they're damaged or lost."

John sighed and leaned his head back against the tree. "Damn, growing up here in the Peacekeepers must be one hell of a brainwash. If this was Earth, your techs would have thrown down their tools and told you where to stick your superior attitudes a long time ago."

"If this was Earth," Aeryn pointed out, getting back to her original concerns, "you wouldn't be in so much danger of getting your face bashed in by the pilots you're provoking."

"Couple of Kranda's boys already tried that," he countered, smiling enigmatically.

"So he told me. I think you may have actually impressed him; he's trying to figure out what commando squad you were in before your 'demotion'."

John snorted contemptuously.

"When did you learn to fight like that?" Aeryn asked.

He sobered, lowering his gaze to the ground. "I started going to the advanced hand-to-hand training classes not long after we got back," he explained. "No one ever asked whether or not I was supposed to be there. It gave me something to fill my time, tire me out. But mostly, Aeryn, after what happened to Tauvo, I do not want anyone to ever have to protect me again."

Aeryn nodded. That was pretty much what she'd suspected, though she still wondered why he'd never mentioned it before. "Well and good," she said, ignoring that oversight. "You're just lucky that no one among the pilots seems to remember you as the alien tech we brought aboard two cycles ago. If they'd even suspected that you weren't Sebacean, no amount of fighting skill would have helped you. They would never take such insolence from an alien."

"Huh," was John's subdued reply. "I'd wondered about that."

"Just be careful not to remind them. You're changing things down there, things that have been done the same way for a very long time. Peacekeepers, as a rule, are about as fond of change as they are of aliens."

John snorted. "They aren't fond of losing their happy little privileges, that's what. Every change I've made, Aeryn--from rearranging the deck and taxi lanes for better visibility, to clearing space around the ships and moving all that crap they used to keep out on the deck to a central storage--it's all right there in the regs if you bother to actually read them. The pilots just don't think the rules should apply to _them_, and they've been getting their way for way too long."

"What do you mean, it's in the regs?"

John laughed slightly. "Babe, I'm not a complete idiot, you know. I wanted to do something to help the techs down there, but I didn't just jump in blind. I checked the codes, read them cover to cover, just looking for a loophole or two I might be able to exploit."

He paused for effect, then shrugged helplessly. "Imagine my surprise when I learned that not only was I allowed to make every change I'd been considering, I was actually _required_ to do so. There are all sorts of rules and safety procedures in there that no one has bothered to enforce in I don't know how long. Centuries, maybe."

"What?" Aeryn was aghast. The rules were everything in Peacekeepers, almost a religion. To learn that some were being ignored--that she herself had, unknowingly, done so--was like a blow to the very foundations of her faith. How could such a thing have happened?

"I don't know how it started," John said, seeming to read her thoughts. "Rules like that often get set aside in war time, in the interests of expediency. If they were as unpopular with the pilots then as they are now, maybe later generations just conveniently forgot to enforce them again after the war was over. Or it may have been the deck officers; when they started handing this job out as a punishment, the disgraced commandos who got stuck with it were more concerned about kissing up to the pilots than they were about the proper operation of the flight deck."

Aeryn's mind was still whirling in shock. "Are you telling me that you really have the authority to ground an entire Prowler squad? Even when most of them outrank you?"

John reddened and shifted uncomfortably. "Um...well," he fumbled, "not exactly. I may have...stretched a rule or two on that one. I don't really have any authority over the pilots at all. I can't give them orders. What I do have, though, is the last word on every ship that lands on my deck. Most of them have little problems, things caused by normal wear and tear. Simple stuff that can be put off until something major comes up so you can fix everything at once. But if I decide it's 'necessary', I can take a ship off of active status for any problem that might affect performance, even slightly."

"So you didn't ground Kranda or his squad at all...."

"I grounded their ships. Exactly. It's a technicality, but one I can use to teach the pilots a lesson. They get one of my techs hurt or killed, they lose their ships for a while. And the rest of the techs can take their own sweet time making the repairs."

"You're insane," Aeryn pronounced decisively.

"Since birth." The grin was cocky and unrepentant. "It'll save lives, Aeryn. If it saves even one, it'll be worth it."

"Even if it gets _you_ killed?"

John suddenly got very serious, and very quiet. "Aeryn," he said, finally. "You and I both know what's been going on in my head lately. It's not getting any better. I'm trying to do some good with what little sanity I may have left, here. If it does end up getting me killed, well...." He shrugged indifferently.

Before Aeryn could marshal her arguments, John shifted and straightened up. His voice suddenly cheery, he asked, "So, how was your day, honey?"

Her mouth gaped open, her thoughts thrown into a tailspin by the sudden shift in both mood and topic. Part of her wanted to go back, beat some sense into Crichton, convince him to be more careful, but the rest of her was more than happy to change the subject. Her mind recoiled from the whole idea that John might be going slowly insane and there was nothing she could do about it. Avoidance was an entirely viable tactic, one they used regularly.

She sighed, thinking back on the last several solar days. "The mission was successful," she reported blandly. She could hear more than fatigue in her own voice, though, and Crichton caught it immediately.

"Bad?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Battle always is, no matter how long and hard you train and practice for it."

John's eyes bored into hers, prodding her to say more.

"It was easier when I was flying prowlers," she finally admitted. "We were just taking out anonymous enemy ships then, targeting engines, shooting down missiles. Destroying machines. Now I see faces when I fire my weapons."

Crichton sat quietly, listening to her with understanding. This was what she loved about these meetings of theirs. She could talk about emotions here, admit to having doubts, and John would never revile her for the weakness. She could expunge her demons in safety, and receive the benefits of John's entirely unique perspective.

"I would imagine it's especially hard when those faces are Sebacean," he murmured.

"I suppose," she replied evasively, though of course he was correct.

"I know you couldn't talk about it before you left, but can you tell me anything about the mission now?"

"It was an uprising. We suppressed it." What was there to tell?

"But what was it about?"

_About?_ "What do you mean, what was it about? It was a rebellion!"

"But what were they rebelling _against_? There's usually a reason, Aeryn."

She stopped, silent. There were times when John's unique perspective could be a little disturbing, too. She fumbled for something resembling an answer. "It...we...I don't know, Crichton. We weren't told anything about that. The Peacekeepers are simply contracted with the current government."

"It might help, in the future," he suggested, "if you knew what you were fighting for."

She thought about that. Then she stopped thinking about it, tied it up in a neat bundle and filed it away to think about later. Sighing, she let her head tip back against the tree trunk.

"Tired?" John asked.

"A bit."

"You should go get some sleep, then."

She nodded. "I suppose I should. Sleep, and a few days of rest. For once I'm glad this is such a quiet patrol. I--"

A shrill alarm pierced the air, shattering their tranquility. They both jumped at the sudden noise, then stared at each other with wide eyes. This particular alarm was one rarely heard on this ship in the past few cycles, a ship-wide call to battle stations.

The voice of the communications officer came through the comms, a faint hint of something like excitement tingeing her usually calm demeanor. "Attention all personnel. We have received a distress call from a Peacekeeper base under threat by a Scarran dreadnought. We will arrive within six arns to render assistance. All personnel report to emergency stations for further instructions."

She and John sat in shocked silence for a microt, then rose to their feet.

"Dreadnought?" John asked as they made their way quickly to the door.

"The most powerful vessel in the Scarran fleet. Twice our size, with firepower to match. Our odds of success in a one-on-one confrontation--"

"Never tell me the odds," he interrupted her. "No rest for the weary, I guess. Gonna be a long night."

As they reached the door, John slowed and then stopped, turning to Aeryn with a strange, uncertain expression. He rubbed one thumb against his lower lip, eyes boring deep into hers.

"John? What are you--"

Reaching up, John grabbed her by the back of her neck and pulled her into a sudden, desperate kiss. Her eyes flew wide in surprise, even as she felt herself respond. John's eyes were closed, and stayed closed for a few microts after he let go and pulled back. Then he took a deep breath and looked into her eyes again.

"For luck," was all he said, quirking a wry grin, and then he turned and jogged away towards the flight deck.

Aeryn couldn't move. She stared after him, absently touching her lips. She could still taste him. Slowly, incrementally, she started to smile.

Then footsteps pounded up the corridor from the opposite direction, shaking her from her reverie. Schooling her expression and squaring her shoulders, Aeryn Sun prepared herself for yet another battle.

This time, though, she knew what she would be fighting for.

* * *

John slowed to a fast walk as he approached the hangar doors, not wanting to arrive out of breath or present an appearance of panic.

The flight deck was a frantic hive of activity, with techs flying here and there looking both tense and focused. There was little if any fear in evidence, and John envied them their composure.

The sheer number of techs present was the biggest surprise. Not only were all three shifts now on duty for the duration, but the techs whose normal stations were with less essential vessels, such as the scrub-runners and the KL-series transports, were also detailed to the Prowler bays in emergencies.

There were no pilots or commandos in sight, all likely now sitting in the carrier's many briefing rooms learning about what they'd be up against. Part of John wanted to be there, a fly on the wall. The terse announcement and Aeryn's brief description of a Dreadnought were anything but a complete picture.

Was this Pearl Harbor, first strike in the war that everyone feared was coming? Or simply a test, a probe of Peacekeeper defenses?

Would they be alone in this battle, or were other carriers coming? What about the base? What kind was it? Planet? Space station? Could it hold out until they arrived?

With a mental growl of frustration, John waved away the pointless questions. They had a job to do here, a job that people's lives were going to depend on them doing well.

John gave a piercing whistle--a trick that always amused the techs, since it was apparently not something Sebaceans ever learned to do--and drew the entire crew together in a vacant maintenance bay for a brief meeting.

He spoke loudly, attempting to project in spite of the lousy acoustics in the bay, so as to be heard by the crowd of several hundred people. "This is the real thing, guys," he announced, bluntly. "You know all those new safety rules we've been pushing? They're out the window as of this moment, so watch your asses out there!

"Now, we need everything that can fly and shoot fueled and ready to launch in five arns. Start with the easy ones and work your way down the list. It doesn't have to be pretty and it doesn't have to be perfect, but get those birds ready for space, got it?"

Nods and murmured agreements met that query. John turned his attention to his chief tech, a stern woman with slightly graying hair. "Avena, what's the status of the Prowlers from Senior Officer Kranda's squad?"

"All the engines have been removed and stripped for a complete overhaul, sir."

"How long would it take to put them back together?"

Avena consulted her data pad, and he could see her making mental calculations. "Eight arns, sir."

"Damn," he swore vehemently.

The techs seemed to shrink away from him, clearly expecting a violent reprimand at the very least. "We simply did as you ordered, sir," Avena asserted nervously.

John waved off her worries with a deprecating laugh. "Yeah, I know, you guys are just too frelling efficient." He got a few chuckles from the crowd for that, but they were still tense. He sighed. "Much as I would love to make Kranda Knievel sit this one out, we're going to need every fighter we've got. Even him."

John saw nods of agreement accompanied by frowns on the faces around him. He sympathized; he hated having to give away the victory he'd so lately and narrowly won.

"Avena," he said sharply, using his voice to draw her to attention. "Pick a team of your best techs. If you can get that squad flying in six arns, I'll grant every one of you an extra liberty day whenever you want it."

The techs looked completely flabbergasted by that, and John smiled. He remembered Gilina telling him once that techs rarely got any acknowledgement, much less any reward, for their achievements. It encouraged mediocrity. John was going to change that; it was time to see what the application of a little positive reinforcement could do.

Everyone set to work with a will, spurred by the deadline of the approaching battle. The fighting complement of the carrier might not appreciate them, but at times like this the techs knew their true worth. Their diligence and expertise with the machinery of war could mean the difference between victory and destruction in the coming arns, as much or more than the skills of the pilots of the strategies of their commanding officers.

John stayed out of their way. In his early days down on the flight deck, he had tried lending a hand a time or two. It had quickly become obvious, however, that it just made the techs uncomfortable to have him there. They became nervous and accident-prone. So John had learned to step back and concentrate on the true functions of his job, which were to help them do theirs by getting them what they needed, and to keep the pilots and senior officers from distracting them with silly orders.

As the arns ticked down to microts and their destination grew closer, John found himself breathing a sigh of relief. They'd made it. Soon dozens of pilots started to stream in through the doors, helmets in hand, and climbed into their ships. The Prowler squads raced towards the launch area, ignoring the lines and paths John had so recently laid out. He held his breath, but the techs were alert despite their fatigue and scrambled out of the way.

As the exodus proceeded apace, John caught sight of Kranda and his squad from across the bay, coming through one of the doors and proceeding blithely towards their Prowlers, clearly expecting to find them ready and waiting.

When they discovered that the reconstruction was not yet completed, the pilots were something less than pleased. A shouting match broke out, though it was the commandos doing all the shouting. Avena spoke quietly, trying to explain, but they were having none of it.

John had been heading across the bay at a quick jog from the microt he'd seen these guys come in. As he got closer, he saw Avena finally lose her patience and snap at one of the pilots who was berating her.

The pilot in question raised his hand to deliver a resounding backhand slap for the insolence, but John grabbed his hand out of midair and yanked him off balance, then kicked his legs out from under him.

Stepping past the fallen soldier before he could scramble back to his feet, John took up a position between Kranda and the techs, next to and slightly in front of the irritated Chief Avena.

Kranda, having seen the casual take-down of his pilot, looked just about ready to tear John's head off. He took a step forward, but John raised his hand and pointed two fingers into his face.

"Back off, flyboy," John said sharply.

Kranda stopped, from shock more than anything, most likely. "How dare you speak to me that way? You have no right; I am your superior officer--"

"But you are not my _commanding_ officer. Sir. And I do have the right, because you are standing on _my_ flight deck, interfering with _my_ people's work. Check with Lt. Malarr in Flight Ops. I already have. She didn't like it any more than you do, but she's confirmed my authority on this deck as per Article Thirteen Tola--"

"Don't you quote regulations at me, frelnik!" Kranda's face got redder, his fists clenching impotently at his sides.

John was actually starting to enjoy this; it felt good to be able to tell someone off but good, even if he was treading a very fine line between resolve and insubordination. He continued in his most rational, reasonable tone, "Sir, we are in a high alert situation here. I'll have to ask you and your men to clear out until we're ready for you."

"Our ships are supposed to be ready _now!"_

John smiled. "Your Prowlers were pulled from active status for delinquent repairs less than fifteen arns ago, Senior Officer, on my authority. Perhaps you remember that. Now, there is nothing in the rules that says I have to release them until those repairs are done. Under any other circumstances, I would love to stand back and watch you stew. But I figure we need every pilot we've got if we're going to survive this, so I've had this team working nonstop since the alert came down, getting your birds put back together."

"We are supposed to be out _there_!" Kranda screeched, waving an arm wildly towards a random spot on the bulkhead, losing even more self-control. If Sebaceans weren't so nearly cold-blooded, John would expect to see steam coming out of his ears. "Do you want to explain to Lt. Malarr why our fighter screens are a squadron short?"

"I already have," John replied calmly. "And if you had bothered to check in with her instead of coming down here and making an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'me', you would have known that. I believe she's detailed your unit to the Xelstar regiment temporarily, until your ships are ready."

"Ship security? That's an outrage! We're pilots, not frelling boot-shiner grots!"

John just shrugged. "Take that up with the Lieutenant, sir. All I know is that the longer you stand here yammering at me, the longer you'll have to wait before your ships are ready."

Maybe it was the smile on John's face as he said it, but something finally tore the last of Kranda's temper. With a roar, he threw himself at Crichton, all technique and training forgotten in his rage.

John caught his arms and, using the man's own momentum, tossed him sprawling onto the deck.

There was a low growl, in stereo surround sound, as nearly a dozen angry pilots took exception to this poor treatment of their commander and started forward.

_Oops._ John took up his best defensive stance, ready to fight even knowing he was going to lose.

Then the advancing soldiers stopped, identical looks of confused dismay on their face, and backed away a step. The confusion was mutual, and John found himself wondering if some senior officer had just walked in. But then he sensed something and took a glance behind him.

Twenty techs stood arrayed behind and around John, each and every one of them holding some large and heavy tool. There was nothing about their postures that seemed even vaguely threatening, but they were very much _there_.

Kranda was on his feet and in Crichton's face almost instantly. "You just made a big mistake, Sub-officer Crichton. Striking a superior officer is a serious offense. I swear to you, I will have you up on charges the instant this battle is won! Your career is finished!"

John felt a laugh bubble up from somewhere deep in his chest, slightly hysterical but real enough. "Go right ahead, asshole," he chuckled at Kranda's crimson, contorted face. "I really couldn't care less."

Then he turned his back on a stunned Kranda in clear dismissal and raked his eyes over the techs ranked behind him. "What are you guys just standing around for?" he demanded sternly. "Get back to work!"

* * *

As the carrier and its escort vessels decelerated into the system and approached the besieged gammak base, the huge ship dropped a trail of breadcrumbs. Fifty Marauders, stripped bare of all but essential weapons, moved off at a tangent, slipping behind the gas giant that the base was orbiting before the Dreadnought came into sensor range.

The small fleet raced around the huge planet, just grazing the upper atmosphere and using the massive gravity to boost their speed beyond anything the normally plodding ships were capable of. It was a new tactic, recently added to the commandos' repertoire.

A single Marauder led the way, with the officer who had first proposed this unique maneuver at the helm. Aeryn Sun smiled as she held the ship's course steady, wondering what the others would think if they knew that this technique had originally been conceived by an inferior alien from a backward planet.

At the proper moment, Aeryn wrenched the ship away, blasting them out of orbit and onto a direct course for the planet's largest moon. Their velocity was at least twice what Marauders were capable of unassisted, which should help them slip through the Scarran fighters swarming about the small satellite with minimal contact.

"I'll see that you get a commendation for this, Officer Sun," said Lt. Dak. He was standing just behind Aeryn's shoulder, observing this new maneuver with apparent satisfaction.

"Thank you, sir." She would, she vowed silently, make sure to include the true originator of this tactic in her report; it was John's theory, and he deserved the credit for creating it.

"Any word from the carrier, Sub-Officer?" Dak asked, turning his attention to another soldier.

The young man at the comms console replied, "They've engaged the Dreadnought, sir, on the far side of the moon."

"Good," Dak nodded.

"A command carrier has got to be the biggest frelling diversion I have ever heard of," the weapons officer muttered.

"Let's just hope it works," Dak replied grimly. "We've got a job to do, and we can't do it with that frelling budong full of Scarrans hovering over us. Whatever this base has been working on, High Command apparently considers it worth the possible loss of an entire carrier to keep it out of the hands of the enemy. That's our job."

"Aye sir."

Dak turned back to communications. "See if you can get a tight-beam transmission through to the base as soon as we're within line-of-sight."

It took about a hundred microts before they were able to contact anyone. "Who's there?" came a harried voice, finally. The man on the base was out of breath and obviously far past any caring for procedure or courtesy.

Dak didn't bother objecting to the rudeness. "Lt. Dak, sir," he identified to the base officer. "Commanding Katirian company, Pleisar regiment. Are you the base commander?"

"Lt. Heskon, sir. Chief of security. The commander is dead, sir."

"What's your situation, Lieutenant?"

The man at the other end took a deep breath. "The Scarrans commenced their attack approximately five arns ago. We managed to repel their troop ships for almost four arns until our ground to space artillery ran out of ammunition. Thanks to the volatile nature of this moon's surface, the Dreadnought has refrained from using its main weapons; their intent is evidently to capture the base rather than destroy it."

"They have landed troops, then?"

"Yes, sir. We don't know how many; there are no sensors up top where they landed. They breached the base perimeter and have now penetrated to level five. We're holding them there for the moment."

Dak nodded; they'd expected something of the sort. "Lt. Heskon, my troops should be arriving within five hundred microts. Please have the project personnel prepare for extraction, along with all of their data and essential equipment."

"Aye sir."

* * *

When the last squad of Prowlers raced down the flight deck towards the gaping maw that was the launch bay, John took a deep breath. His job wasn't done, not by any stretch, but the first hurdle had been cleared and no lives had been lost.

Three dozen techs still labored tirelessly on Kranda's squadron of Prowlers at the far end of the bay. At this rate, Avena's crew might just beat John's six arn goal for completing the repairs.

The rest of the crews, those not involved in that frantic task, John divided into groups of twenty and assigned to maintenance bays along the perimeter of the main hangar. They could already hear the thrum of the main frag cannons firing, the sound ringing through the metal superstructure of the carrier. Soon some of those Prowlers they had watched fly out of the hangar would be limping back, damaged or crippled. The techs' jobs would then be to get those disabled craft back into the battle, if possible, and as fast as possible.

The ringing of the carrier's guns was soon joined by the jolts and rumbles of Scarran weapons fire striking against the shields. The crews paused and looked up at every shake at first, but soon they were managing to ignore the disturbance and keep working.

Over the course of the next quarter arn, half a dozen Prowlers returned to the bay with minor damage, and the tech teams were soon hard at work.

About an arn before, just as the first of the pilots appeared in the hangar, the hangar deck's main comms had started to broadcast a live feed from flight ops control. For the most part the chatter was mundane--technical jargon, deployment patterns and the like--so after a little while John managed to push it into the background like a radio talk show.

Once in a while, though, he was drawn back to it by a familiar voice, such as when Captain Crais fired orders to the Prowler wings or the Vigilantes, or by his own worries. He kept an ear open for news of the Marauder squadrons, but heard no mention of them. What were Aeryn and her fellow commandos doing? Where were they?

A loud rumble echoed through the walls, and the deck shook again, hard enough to throw everyone off-balance. John was just getting steadied again when a short, shrill alarm sounded. He looked up.

Another Prowler was entering the bay. It veered drunkenly, narrowly missing the wall. As it turned back on course, John could suddenly see a trail of vapor streaming out from under one wing.

"Oh, shit," he muttered. "Team two, emergency! Get some foam on the deck!"

The techs heard his order and rushed to comply, but the pilot of the damaged ship must have been seriously hurt. His approach was still erratic, and far too fast. As he neared the middle of the bay, while the techs were just starting to deploy the fire-retardant foam, the fighter suddenly listed to one side and scraped a wing against the bare metal of the deck.

Sparks flew.

"Frell! Get down!" was all the warning John had the chance to give before the sparks ignited the trail of cesium fuel leaking from the Prowler.

Diving for cover in the nearest maintenance bay, John felt a rush of searing heat wash over him as the resulting explosion filled the entire hangar with noise and fire. As the heat and sound faded, new sounds took their place: pain-filled screams from those who hadn't been so lucky.

John staggered to his feet and slammed a fist into the nearest comms panel. "Fire on deck!" he shouted, hearing his own voice echo through the bay as his cry for help reached flight ops. "I repeat, fire on the hammond side flight deck! We need suppression teams and med techs! Frelling _now!_"

He barely heard the acknowledgements from the ops personnel as he stumbled back towards the hangar and took his first look at the disaster.

Flaming debris littered the deck for a hundred motras in all directions from the site of the crash. Bodies, too, many of them also burning.

War. This was what war looked like. How many of those bodies belonged to people he'd known by name? People he'd joked with, and managed to goad into laughter despite the wide gulf of rank and custom?

The dull thrum of weapons fire continued unchecked, and for the first time John found himself really thinking about what that sound meant.

And praying those shots were finding their targets.

* * *

With a short burst from the landing thrusters, Aeryn set her Marauder down in a place she had never thought to return to. The hangar, at least, had not changed. Indeed, the spot she'd chosen, as close to the far wall as possible to make room for the dozens of others following her, was almost the exact same place from which she'd stolen a Marauder the last time.

Back then, she had come to this place to rescue two people. This time she was here to rescue everyone.

While the other ships were setting down all around them, Lt. Dak was attempting to devise a strategy. They had a general diagram of the base, and Lt. Heskon had given them the approximate position of the Scarran invaders.

"Sir?" Aeryn spoke up tentatively after watching her commanding officer mutter to himself for a while.

"Yes, Officer Sun?" he replied distractedly.

"As you know, sir, I have been to this facility before..."

"Yes, of course. It's part of the reason I wanted you on my team for this mission."

Aeryn nodded. That explained her sudden transfer to the company commander's flagship, an event which had been both pleasant and daunting during the briefing earlier. "There is a back-corridor route, sir, mostly used by the techs. It leads from the hangar here through narrow passageways to this point," she pointed to a section of the diagram, not far from the Scarrans.

"How narrow?"

"We'd have to go single file, sir."

"Too tight for the Scarrans to use?"

Aeryn thought about it. "Most likely."

"Excellent!" Dak crowed. "We'll be able to catch them in a cross-fire, drive them back to the surface. And it sounds like a perfect evacuation route, as well. Easier to defend."

The rest of the company, over two hundred commandos, was standing ready on the deck by the time Dak and his crew disembarked. Instead of the smaller pistols and rifles that were their usual gear, each soldier sported a shoulder-slung pulse cannon. They were heavy and awkward in close quarters, but they were also the only hand-held weapon in the Peacekeeper arsenal that could reliably put down a Scarran with a single shot.

Dak took point, with Aeryn just behind him to provide directions, and led half the commandos through the back passageways. The others were to advance through the main corridors. Together with the base personnel already in place, their forces hoped to catch the enemy in a three-way cross-fire. It might not be enough to completely destroy them--an initial strafing run before entering the base had shown a dozen transport ships parked on the roof, meaning there might be as many as five hundred Scarrans inside the base--but it ought to at least force them to retreat higher.

Along the way, Dak's unit encountered several techs who had retreated to these back hallways when the Scarran advance cut off their escape. He ordered them brusquely to the hangar bay to wait.

After what seemed like metras of walking--somehow Aeryn hadn't remembered it being so far--they reached a hatchway that she recognized. "Here, sir," she pointed out to Dak. "This leads out into a secondary corridor, designation seven lerg three."

Dak moved to the hatch and gestured for silence. Like a wave, as the message passed back along the line, everyone froze. The lieutenant listened, ear pressed close to the door, for a dozen microts, then turned, frowning, back to Aeryn.

"Scarrans," he whispered harshly. "At least two; probably a scout patrol. Any other exits?"

"Not nearby," she replied, pitching her voice low to match his. Scarran hearing wasn't terribly acute, but no sense taking chances. "Last one was at least a hundred motras back."

"Too close to the main force. They'd be on us before we could get into position. We've a better chance with just the patrol." Dak paused, then gave a wicked little smile. "Wouldn't be any fun if we didn't get to kill some lizards, anyway, eh Sun?"

Aeryn returned his smile, remembering Tauvo. Crichton wasn't the only one itching for a little payback. She primed her cannon, the ready hum of energy build-up providing a more than adequate reply.

At Dak's direction, she crouched low by the hatch opening, ready to fire at any available target the microt he pulled it open. This was risky, to be sure. Success was entirely dependent on the element of surprise; if there were more than two out there, she and Dak might not be able to take them all out before one of them could call for help. The commandos trailing behind them would only be able to exit one at a time, leaving the Peacekeeper forces highly vulnerable for a short interval.

Dak counted down silently, then wrenched the heavy door aside. Aeryn scanned quickly, saw nothing, then shoved her weapon through the door, somersaulted over it and came up into position on the far side of the corridor, facing the opposite direction.

"Three!" she called out, even as she aimed and fired on one of the Scarran scouts. It was a well-placed shot to the head and the huge creature fell without a sound, having never seen his attacker.

Dak pivoted around the edge of the door, bringing his own weapon to bear just as Aeryn drew a bead on her second target. One scout was already reaching for his comms. The other fired a wild blast in Aeryn's direction. It missed, narrowly, but she didn't flinch and her own shot found its mark, just as Dak's own cannon spat. The call for aid was interrupted before it began.

Dak rolled out of the door and took up a position at Aeryn's back to guard the other direction, alert for any alarm the weapons discharges might have triggered. With the hatch clear, the commandos started filing out behind them, each taking up a covering position in one of the corridor's many alcoves.

No Scarrans appeared, and a hundred tense microts later all of the Peacekeeper commandos were deployed and ready.

* * *

The ship shuddered, groaning like a wounded whale, and John shifted to maintain his balance. He shook his head and sighed. He needed to find something productive to do to keep himself distracted, instead of wasting time staring at that ugly gash ripped into the floor of his deck, and the bodies still littering the scorched corners of the bay.

The voice in his head was whispering again, about wormholes and weapons and the power to defeat the Scarrans. "Shut up, damn it," he muttered under his breath, trying futilely to wave the voice away. "That's not helping."

"Sir?"

John turned smartly, grateful for the distraction, but also hoping he hadn't been overheard talking to himself. He found himself looking down at a young girl, not much more than seventeen or eighteen cycles old, with dark hair and deep brown eyes. Her quizzical expression said she had indeed heard him. _Damn it._ "Yes, um...." John had made it a point to know all of the techs under his supervision by name and specialty, but this one was new and he was drawing a blank.

"Pi J'hesta, sir."

"Pi?" John fought a smile, absurdly amused at the linguistic coincidence that had bestowed such an appropriate name on a tech. This was hardly the time for that discussion, though; it would take much too long to explain. John shoved the thought aside and replied seriously, using her surname as was customary. "What is it, J'hesta?"

"Chief Avena would like to speak with you when it's convenient, sir."

He sighed, relieved to have something to think about at last. "It's more than convenient, it's a damn miracle. Lay on, MacDuff."

J'hesta froze, a panicked look crossing her face. John mentally kicked himself. He really had to learn not to do that. J'hesta was expecting to be punished any microt for her hesitation, because she hadn't understood his orders. It was yet more proof that she was new to the flight deck; most of the techs he'd worked with over the past few monens had gotten used to his odd speech patterns. They also knew that he wasn't the type of capricious, sadistic officer who punished others for his own mistakes.

"Take me to the Chief, J'hesta," John clarified gently.

"Oh, aye sir!" The girl turned and marched briskly away, leading him towards the single remaining active maintenance bay on the deck. The rest of the area had been shut down following the accident, but Avena's crew still labored on, repairing Kranda's squad of Prowlers.

As he approached the bay, John could see the small black ships still swarming with techs, all of whom he knew well. Avena had picked out the most experienced and talented people on the deck to do the work, some of them nearly as brilliant in their chosen field as Gilina had been in hers. Under other circumstances, John knew, he could have called many of them friends, could have spent long arns off-shift just shooting the breeze with these people. But now, as their supervising officer, the gulf of rank was simply too wide to be bridged.

If young Pi J'hesta had been chosen to work among this group, John realized, Avena must have thought there was something pretty special there. He'd have to keep an eye on this girl's progress.

Assuming they both survived the day.

The Chief was inspecting some bit of work for one of the techs. As John approached, she nodded her approval then turned to face him.

"What's up, Avena?"

The older woman didn't blink. She was used to his quirks by now, and even understood him part of the time. "We are refueling the squadron now, sir. The ships will be ready for launch in under two hundred microts."

He smiled at the news, impressed. The work had been interrupted by the Prowler crash on the main deck and the subsequent chaos of rescue and damage control, but Avena had still managed to beat her original estimate by over an arn. "Good work," John said simply. "I'll let the pilots know."

As he turned away and headed for the nearest comms station, John made a mental note. If by some chance they managed to survive the day, he vowed, he'd find something nice to do for that crew as a reward.

* * *

The evacuation was proceeding in as orderly a fashion as such things generally managed--which was to say not very, and getting worse by the microt.

The Scarran forces had been driven back, forced to retreat almost to the surface. Fifty of the base's remaining soldiers, led by Lt. Dak, were standing guard at the far end of the escape route, alert for the inevitable counter-attack once the Scarrans regrouped. Hopefully, however, they would be gone by the time that happened.

Aeryn was in the hangar, directing the evacuees to their ships as best she could. Each Marauder took on as many as it could hold, usually about twenty additional personnel, before taking off. A dozen ships had already left before Aeryn ever arrived, the first rush of essential personnel having beaten her to the bay. Two dozen ships had been filled and departed since then.

With so many people crammed into each ship, it was going to be a very uncomfortable five-day journey back to Peacekeeper space if the worst happened.

As time passed, the stream of refugees slowed to a trickle, and the number of ships remaining dwindled to just a bare handful. Then for over three hundred microts there was nothing. The silence of the base was eerie, absent the noise of the nearly one thousand people who had lived within its walls.

Because of that preternatural quiet, Aeryn heard the tramp of boots echoing along the corridor long before anyone appeared.

Dak emerged first, leading the final retreat of the base's defenders. He came to stand at Aeryn's side while the others filed out to the remaining ships.

"All quiet?"

"Yes, sir. No problems at this end." Aeryn glanced up at her superior. "Are the timers set?"

Dak nodded. "We have about eight hundred microts."

"Should be plen--" Aeryn started to say, when an angry voice suddenly cut through hers.

"You!"

Both Aeryn and Dak turned. A dark-haired man, lieutenant's insignia still clinging to the ragged and dirty remains of his uniform, was stalking towards them with a finger pointed accusingly at Aeryn's face. He seemed vaguely familiar.

"You, Hardek!" the man called out again as he got closer still.

Ah, that brought the memory to the surface. Heskon, the security officer who had accosted her in Crichton's cell the last time she was here. She'd forgotten him in the interim, but obviously he still remembered her. Probably because she'd knocked him unconscious.

'Nela Hardek' had been the identity forged for her by Gilina Renaez, to allow her to move about the base freely during that earlier mission. Apparently the deception had held up, even through the subsequent inquiry, and her true identity had never been discovered.

"Lt. Dak," Heskon said, still pointing at Aeryn, "I insist that you place Officer Hardek under arrest, for assault on a superior officer."

Dak's expression was a mix of confusion and exasperation. "Lieutenant, I am fairly sure this woman has not come anywhere near you."

"Not today. It was nearly a cycle ago. She infiltrated this facility, broke two prisoners out of their cell--"

The rant continued in long and painful detail. Aeryn looked over at her superior, only to see that he was looking both bored and impatient. She remembered their eight hundred microt deadline, now dwindled to less than six hundred.

_Frell it._

Heskon was still griping about her unprovoked attack when she obliged him with a demonstration. Her fist impacted with his face in a full-power pantak jab, and Heskon fell to the ground, unconscious and silent.

Dak's only immediate response was to raise a single eyebrow.

"We don't have time for this, sir," she explained.

"Right." He nodded. "Crewmen!" Dak gestured to two young soldiers who had been watching the proceedings with some amusement. "Get this man aboard a ship."

"Aye, sir," the grots replied brightly. Each man took one of Heskon's arms and prepared to drag him away.

"Just make sure it isn't _mine_," Dak clarified.

Their smiles grew wider. "Aye, sir," they said again.

At a gesture from the lieutenant, Aeryn followed him towards their Marauder. Time was indeed running short.

"Sir," she asked tentatively as then climbed aboard. "About Heskon's charges...."

"What about them, Sun? All of his accusations were against an Officer Hardek. I have no soldier by that name under my command."

"But...what about...just now...."

There was a twinkle in Dak's eye, though his face was perfectly serious. "I didn't see anything." He turned and marched towards the bridge. Then, just as he was about to pass out of sight, he turned back towards her. "Off the record, though," he said slyly, "I'd been wanting to do that for arns. The man's an annoying _treznot_."

* * *

The harried officer in flight control who took John's report was understandably abrupt. "Fine," she snapped, cutting him off. "I'll pass the information along. Now get off this channel, Sub-officer; we have more important things to--oh, frell!"

John physically stepped back from the comms station. There was pure panic in that voice, and Peacekeeper officers simply did not _do_ that. _What the frell is happening?_ Shouting voices came through the open comms channel, overlapping and muffled. The words were garbled, but the fear and desperation came through clearly, worrying John further.

"What's happening, sir?"

Young Pi J'hesta had appeared at John's elbow, watching and listening curiously.

John shook his head. "Dunno."

An alarm blared, momentarily deafening everyone. John didn't recognize it at first--it wasn't one he'd heard before--but J'hesta's eyes widened. "Collision alarm!"

At the same instant, one voice came clearly through the babble on the comms. "Helm, take evasive action. All hammond side cannons, maximum fire! Kill that ship!"

John stood frozen for an instant. His instincts advised flight, but was there really anywhere they could run?

The impact, when it came, seemed almost mild at first, hardly worth the flight ops crew getting so bothered about. There was a jolt, no worse than the many they'd ridden out caused by weapons fire, and a distant rumble vibrating through the walls.

But the sound didn't die away. It grew, building into a deafening roar that shook the ship like a freight train bearing down on them, until it became a struggle to simply remain standing. J'hesta, forgetting protocol, grabbed onto John for support, and he wrapped one arm around her while trying to hold onto the wall with the other.

There were screams, from both tearing metal and Sebaceans. The lights all through the hangar bay dimmed, then flared brighter; several exploded in showers of sparks. Then, all at once, the bay plunged into darkness.

Just when John thought the worst might be over, there was a loud concussion from the mouth of the bay, followed by a shock wave that threw everyone still standing onto the deck. John lost his hold on J'hesta as he tried to roll with the shock. He slammed to a stop against a Prowler's landing strut, still clamped securely into the maintenance chock-blocks.

The impact knocked the breath from John's lungs, and it seemed for a crazy instant as if the ship was empathizing with him.

_Who the frell dumped me into the world's biggest shop vac?_

The inane thought raced through his mind before he could process what was happening. Precious air was rushing out, a hurricane-force gale towards the gaping maw of the landing and launch bay. _Containment field failure_, he deduced, grabbing on to the Prowler. Others, less fortunate, screamed as they plummeted towards the emptiness of space, along with tools and debris and anything else not bolted down.

John could see pressure doors all around the bay slamming shut, sealing them off from the rest of the ship to prevent decompression of the entire section.

_Where's the frelling emergency power?_

A piercing scream snapped John's attention back, and he turned his head into the wind. Through tearing eyes, he could see J'hesta about two motras to one side and behind him, her body flailing wildly at the end of the fuel line she'd managed to grab onto. Sooner or later--probably sooner--the line would snap, or the constant pummeling against the deck would weaken the young girl's grip.

"Climb!" he yelled back at her. "Grab my hand!"

For a microt he feared she would ignore him, or was already too dazed to understand. But then, slowly, shakily, she started to pull herself hand over hand.

_*Do not risk yourself in this foolish manner, John. You must save yourself.*_

Not a whisper this time; it was like the Scorpius in his head was yelling in his ear over the roar of the wind. He felt his muscles resist as he tried to release one hand from his grip on the fighter and reach out for the girl.

"Let...go of me...frelling bastard!" John gritted his teeth and fought the compulsion. Why did that stupid voice care, anyway? He'd be dead in thirty microts whether he hung on or not, unless the emergency systems kicked in, which they should have done long since.

The young tech, having finally climbed far enough, reached out to him and nearly lost her grip when his hand wasn't there to catch her. With a growl that started deep in his chest and expanded into a roar of rage, John finally managed to loose one hand and reach out, his fingertips brushing against J'hesta's. As he hung there, reaching out for her hand, shadows crept into the corners of his vision as the air pressure dropped.

He reached again, desperately, finally grasping Pi's hand in his own. If he couldn't save her, or even himself, then at least they could both have someone to hold on to. They wouldn't have to die alone.

* * *

As they broke free of the moon's thin atmosphere, there were no Scarran ships waiting for them. It was odd, but perhaps they'd all been called away for some...then Aeryn caught sight of the battle being waged at the far edge of her screen.

"For the love of Chilnak..." she whispered sadly.

The carrier was wallowing like a wounded trolock. One entire side of the main defensive ring structure had been sheared away, and she could make out pinpoints of fire raging on the inner decks. Thousands dead, she knew, in that ring alone; the guns that studded the outer surface would have been fully manned.

The dreadnought, fortunately, looked to be in little better shape. It too sported multiple fires and signs of major damage. Smaller ships still swarmed about, dueling their counterparts and harrying the larger vessels.

"Set course for the asteroid field, Officer Sun," Lt. Dak reminded her, his voice sad and wistful, carrying no reprimand for her distraction. "We need to rendezvous with the others."

Aeryn blinked away the stinging in her eyes and set the course, curving them back into the planet's shadow where they would be hidden from Scarran sensors. "And then what, sir?" she asked.

There was silence for a long time, until she was sure he wasn't going to reply. Then he said, quietly, "I don't know, Sun. I don't frelling know."

Behind them, the explosives the commandos had placed throughout the Gammak base detonated. The massive explosion ignited the volatile surface of the moon, and the inferno spread rapidly. Soon the huge gas giant that dominated the area of the battle had lost a moon, and gained a second, tiny sun.

TBC...


	15. When the Chips Are Down

**Episode 14 - When The Chips Are Down  
**

_"I am in control of me!" -- John Crichton_

The command carrier didn't look much better close up than it had from a distance, even two solar days after the battle ended. True, the fires no longer raged, and any breached sections that couldn't be quickly repaired had long since leaked the last of their atmosphere into space. All was quiet. But still, two-thirds of the ship was dark, on emergency power only, and the huge section missing from the hammond side ring left the ship looking lopsided and crippled.

And yet it lived. No matter how much the carrier might resemble the dead hulk of the _Zelbinion_, the ship had survived, and by surviving, it had won.

Not long after the explosion of the Gammak base, which sparked a firestorm on the tiny moon that even the Scarrans could not traverse, the wounded Dreadnought had retreated. Apparently, thus robbed of their prize, they had seen no purpose in pursuing the battle to its end and risking themselves for no gain. Lt. Dak, however, being cautious, had kept the Marauder squadrons hidden in the system's dense asteroid field until reconnaissance ships had returned with confirmation that the enemy had indeed fled the area.

The facilities on the carrier's hammond side were out of commission, leaving the returning Marauders no choice but to squeeze into the already over-crowded treblin side landing bays. Lt. Dak had Aeryn hold their ship back until the rest had settled into the Marauder bay, only to discover there simply wasn't room for them all. Flight ops irritably directed the stragglers to the Prowler bay as a temporary measure.

It wasn't much better there; every surviving Prowler in the convoy was parked wing-tip to wing-tip on the deck, and finding room for the larger Marauders required the efforts of a dozen techs and several hundred microts before they could finally set down. Then, for the first time in nearly fifty arns, Aeryn took her hands off the flight controls and relaxed.

By the time she and the lieutenant finally dropped out of the ship after finishing the complete shut-down procedures, they were both about ready to fall asleep standing up. But when Aeryn spotted a familiar face, she couldn't pass up the chance for some news.

"Kranda!" she called out, raising a hand in greeting when the man turned around.

Kranda looked like dren, his face and uniform stained with smoke and blood and his eyes glazed with exhaustion. Not that that was different from every other crewman on the deck; they all bore the same war-torn and shell-shocked look.

"You unit flew well?" Aeryn asked, politely, as she approached.

Kranda shook his head, a small, rueful half-smile quirking one corner of his mouth. "Never got off the deck, actually. The techs had our ships in pieces when the alert came down and didn't get them back together until the battle was nearly over. We spent the whole time detailed to Xelstar."

Aeryn felt her eyebrows climbing into her hairline. It wasn't what Kranda had said--now that she recalled the arns before the battle, she knew she should have expected something like that--but rather Kranda's unnatural calm. "You're not..." She trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Angry?" Kranda supplied for her. "No. I was kranked at first, but not anymore."

"Why not, what happened?"

"You know, I used to think you were fahrbot for giving up Prowlers and going Special Ops."

Aeryn blinked at the apparent change of topic. "As I recall, you were the one who encouraged me."

"Sure I did. If _you'd_ still been in our unit, _I'd_ never have made squad leader!" Kranda grinned unrepentantly, and Aeryn had to smile at his undisguised duplicity. "Now, though," Kranda continued, "I think I understand why you did it. Prowler pilots don't get to do the important things."

Aeryn didn't have a good response to that. Those hadn't been her reasons for requesting the transfer, but that didn't mean Kranda was wrong. "What does that have to do with--" she started to ask.

"Did you know the carrier got boarded?" Kranda asked suddenly, cutting her off.

"What?" The exclamation came from Lt. Dak, who was still standing at Aeryn's elbow, likely as interested as she in whatever news he could get. He was aghast. "The Scarrans tried to take the ship?"

"How?" Aeryn wondered. It was almost unheard-of for a command carrier to be boarded by an enemy. But then again, she recalled, the _Zelbinion_ had once been thought invincible.

Kranda frowned at the memory. "A damaged Stryker went out of control and rammed into our hammond side."

"We've seen the damage," Dak nodded. "Half the outer ring was blown away."

"That one blow took out nearly all of our defenses on that side of the ship, not to mention the loss of power and environmentals. The Hammond side hangar bays even lost their containment fields."

Aeryn felt her throat constrict. John would have been in one of those bays. "All hands lost?" she asked, managing to squeeze a whisper past the blockage.

Kranda shook his head. "Fortunately for all of us, no. The emergency power finally cut in after about twenty microts, before the bays had completely vented. About half of the techs who were in those bays survived."

The tight feeling eased slightly. _Half._ John was a survivor. Surely....

"Anyway, that's where the Scarrans managed to get breaching pods aboard. And there wasn't a frelling thing we could do about it; with the bays on emergency power, we couldn't open the pressure doors to mount a counter-attack. It took about a quarter of an arn to get main power rerouted and get in there. We figured they'd be heavily entrenched by that point, and we'd never pry them out."

"Frell," Dak whispered.

Aeryn, too, could picture the situation as it might have occurred, and the near impossibility of driving back an enemy with the advantage of a fortified position without destroying the ship in the process. "What happened?" she asked.

Kranda just shook his head, looking almost...awestruck? "I'm not entirely sure. The only crewmen on that deck when the Scarrans arrived were a single sub-officer and maybe fifty techs. And yet, somehow, they managed to prevent a force of nearly a hundred Scarran warriors from getting a foothold until our troops arrived."

"A sub-officer," Aeryn said, trying to seem nonchalant. _Crichton. It had to be Crichton._

"Yes. The deck officer."

"Is this the same one you were telling me about? The one you wanted to rip to shreds?" Aeryn asked curiously.

"That's the one."

Aeryn breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"He beat a hundred Scarrans?" Lt. Dak sounded skeptical, and Aeryn noticed with some amusement that he was dismissing the presence of the techs completely.

"I wouldn't put it _that_ way," Kranda replied, shaking his head. "He didn't actually manage to kill very many of them. I'm not sure what this guy did, but whatever it was left the Scarrans massively disorganized, and therefore much easier to defeat when the security forces finally arrived. All I do know is what I saw just as we finally broke through."

Aeryn blinked. She'd never heard Kranda use that tone before, full of uncharacteristic awe and respect, unless he was discussing some ancient Peacekeeper hero like Dacon or Durka.

"And what was that?" Dak asked, his curiosity evidently piqued.

"This sub-officer was trying to rescue someone--one of the techs, I think, who was wounded--when a Scarran caught him full in the face with a heat blast."

"So he's dead then," Dak stated, as if there were no question. Aeryn, however, was not surprised at Kranda's denial.

"No, that's just it. He _got up!_ And then he grabbed something, some kind of metal bar, I think. He yelled at the Scarran--I didn't understand the words--and when the Scarran turned back around, this guy just ran him through!"

"He killed a Scarran with nothing more than a metal rod?" Now Lt. Dak was starting to sound impressed. Aeryn, for her part, was smiling at the mental picture.

"Actally," Kranda replied, "he killed _two._"

"What?" Both Aeryn and Dak gaped in shock.

* * *

It was a nightmare. Or was it a memory? Perhaps it was too much of both. All John Crichton knew was that he was trapped and couldn't escape.

The air was rushing out, leaving him gasping for breath, his joints on fire.

_"Hang on!"_

The air came back, but with it arrived even more bad news. The Scarrans were coming aboard.

_"But sir, we're not soldiers...."_

Once he'd realized security wouldn't get there in time, John had known it was up to them. Forty-six frightened techs and one terrified human were all that stood between their ship and the Scarrans. J'hesta clung to his side like a limpet, her eyes wide with hero-worship, and she was the first to accept his assertion that they could do something besides die bravely.

_"You gonna just stand here and let them kill you without a fight?"_

Half a dozen grounded Prowlers, all fueled up with no place to go, became a battery of close-range artillery, manned by techs, shooting down Scarran breaching pods like fish in a barrel.

_"Sir, we have an idea...."_

His mild-mannered, self-effacing techs transformed before his eyes into amateur guerrillas, like four dozen MacGyvers on acid.

The Scarrans hadn't quite known what to make of these oddball adversaries. They didn't stand and fight like the usual Peacekeeper soldiers, and didn't use traditional weapons. It was strike and retreat, the techs taking advantage of their quick reflexes and inventive brains.

Fuel bladders became Molotov cocktails, hurled at the Scarrans from every direction until they didn't know where to turn.

Common chemicals were combined in strange ways to create endothermic reaction grenades, which sucked heat from their targets and left them chilled. The Scarrans hated those.

Precious lubricants were spilled across the decks, sending the attackers slipping and sliding. The end result of all of these unconventional defenses had left the Scarran invaders completely confused.

But not helpless. After nearly quarter of an arn of fighting, one tech's luck had run out. Jaden Destral, a middle-aged tech whom John found eerily reminiscent of DK--or rather, the man DK might become in another twenty years--had been just a hair too slow and caught a glancing blow from one of the Scarran weapons. He fell behind the debris of one of the destroyed breaching pods, wounded or dead. There was no way to tell for sure.

Without thinking, John had dashed out and tried to drag Destral back to safety. He'd been careful, of course, staying behind cover as much as possible and leapfrogging forward in short, crouching runs. Nevertheless, he was spotted. Perhaps it was his uniform, which stood out amongst the tech jumpsuits and marked him as the one in charge, but whatever it was seemed to drive the Scarrans berserk.

Just as he'd finally reached Destral's limp and bleeding form and was checking for a pulse, a primal, bestial roar of rage had echoed across the bay. John had jumped up and spun around, just in time to catch a face full of fire. The air seared his lungs like a blast furnace as he tried to draw breath to scream.

And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. John had collapsed to the ground, feeling charbroiled and sick. The Scarran had turned away, dismissing him completely, and before John could speak or move, had raked its heat weapon over Destral's helpless body as well.

Rage exploded like a supernova in John's mind, wiping away the pain and rising nausea. He'd rolled to his feet and grabbed the first object that came to hand: a long, jagged length of metal from the wreckage of a breaching pod.

_"If I'd wanted a suntan, I'd have gone to the frelling beach!!"_

The sudden shout from an enemy it had assumed was completely helpless startled the Scarran into turning.

In that split second, John had spotted the gash in the Scarran's thick hide, a chink in its otherwise impervious armor, likely a result of one of J'hesta's makeshift fragmentation grenades. Before the Scarran could even move to defend itself, John had rammed that length of sharp metal through the opening and into its massive chest.

The Scarran screeched in pain and rage, giving John a face full of hot, fetid lizard breath, and slowly toppled over.

John had had no chance to savor the victory; a second reptilian roar echoed from behind him almost as the body hit the ground. With adrenaline still surging through his veins, he had been feeling neither pain nor fear. Weapon in hand, John spun around to face the newest onslaught.

The second Scarran was bearing down on him at the fastest lumbering run it was capable of, and this one had no convenient wounds that John could target. In desperation, as the distance closed to point blank range, he finally thrust towards the creature's open mouth and pierced through to its brain.

The Scarran had been bringing its arm up, the heat already making the air shimmer, and unfortunately its death did nothing to halt the reflex. A second wave of heat, far more intense than the first, engulfed John at that moment, and he fell into the abyss.

_Pain._

And then darkness.

* * *

Gradually, after what seemed like an eternity of torment, the violent memories started to fragment, leaving behind only darkness and muffled sounds. The remembered agony transformed into the milder but no less unpleasant realities of the aftermath. His skin burned, hot and tight and swollen, but the air wafting over him was cool, like an early morning fog drifting across a mountain lake, and it felt like heaven.

He felt little better beneath the skin, his whole body consumed in aching and lassitude like the worst case of the flu he'd ever had. His joints still ached, too, though much improved from the searing pain he'd suffered when the bay lost pressure and left him with a classic case of the bends.

Something tickled at the back of his brain, dim recall from the distant past of adolescence. A summer day, not long after the family's last move to Florida, when a young John had gone to the beach and made the mistake of falling asleep in the sun. The burn he'd gotten that day had been awful, flushing his whole body a deep, crimson red and leaving blisters on his nose and cheeks. He'd spent the next week in bed, wrapped in cool, wet cloths, feeling much like he did now.

The memory reassured him somewhat; no matter how lousy he felt, maybe he wasn't dying after all.

The quiet murmurs and footsteps he'd heard up until now coalesced into clear voices, growing nearer.

"...keeping him sequestered here. Others might find the sight of his injuries...disturbing."

The first voice was male, and unfamiliar. It was the second voice, a microt later, which sent a thrill of relief up John's spine.

"I was...concerned, when I heard of his injury, that someone would assume he was Sebacean, and thus beyond recovery."

John fought the fatigue and the pain, trying desperately to open his eyes and see the face that belonged to that voice.

"No, ma'am," was the serious reply to Aeryn's concern. "We all know who John Crichton is."

"Has he woken?"

"We roused him briefly right after he was brought in, just in case there was something we needed to know about treating these types of injuries in his species--"

This was news to John; he had no memory of any such conversation.

"--but we've kept him sedated for the past two solar days to aid healing."

"Ah." Aeryn sounded disappointed. John was still trying to open his eyes, or move a muscle, even just twitch a finger, but it was as if there was a double-paned wall of glass standing between him and his body.

"He should regain consciousness soon, Officer," the tech--for so John presumed the man was--reassured Aeryn. "We estimate about two arns."

_Hah. Shows what you know._ He struggled, beating against the wall, determined to see Aeryn's face before she left.

"Officer Sun!"

This was a third voice, also male. John stopped fighting and lay quiet. The sheer authority contained in those two spoken words said 'senior officer'. Best to stay inconspicuous.

"Lieutenant Dak," Aeryn replied, her greeting mild and curious, lacking the sharp snap to attention that typically accompanied the arrival of a ranking officer. This was someone she knew, then, and was comfortable with.

"Your pilot friend might have believed your excuses, Sun, but I saw you reaction to that tale he was spinning us. You knew something you weren't telling him."

There was a pause, and then, "Yes, sir." John could almost see the small, secretive smile in that resigned tone.

"Is this him, then? Our infamous deck officer who can kill Scarrans with his bare hands?"

Aeryn must have nodded confirmation. "His name is Crichton, sir."

"From the look of those burns, he ought to be dead, but I clearly heard the tech claim he'd be waking up soon. What is he, some kind of special directorate engineered super-soldier?"

John felt his mouth twist into a smirk; apparently the drugs were wearing off at last. He quickly schooled his expression, hoping the man hadn't noticed.

There was a moment of silence, and John wondered if Aeryn was thinking of letting him continue to think that, as part of preserving John's protective anonymity. But then she seemed to decide on honesty, instead. She must trust this lieutenant a great deal.

"No, sir. He's not Sebacean at all, and not susceptible to heat delirium."

"Not Sebacean?" For the moment, John was happy enough to have his eyes closed, so he didn't have to see the look of disgust that went with that tone of voice. "But how--? Wait a microt...wasn't there something about an alien the captain brought aboard? One who looked so much like us that you couldn't tell the difference? What was it, three cycles ago?"

"Actually, not quite two cycles."

"And they made him a _Peacekeeper_?"

"At the captain's request." Aeryn was being very carefully noncommittal.

"Huh." The short exclamation was thoughtful, and oddly lacking its former hostility. "But I still don't see how one man could have held off that many Scarran troops all by himself."

"Didn't."

The new voice was low and rough, barely a whisper; it took John a second to realize it was his own.

"Crichton?"

This time, when he tried to open his eyes, they cooperated somewhat. The room was dimly lit, thankfully, and his bleary vision eventually cleared enough to make out Aeryn's figure leaning over him. "Hey," was all he could manage as a greeting, rasping the syllable out of a parched throat.

She disappeared then, and John wondered if he'd said something wrong. But then a moment later she was back, along with a nurse who offered him water. He sipped a little, then reached for more with the desperation of a drowning man seeking air.

"Slowly, sir," was the polite but firm admonition from the nurse.

Looking around as he took tiny sips of precious water, John realized he was lying in a far corner of one of the ship's odd, multi-level medical areas, near the base of one of the stairstep mist generators. He was subtly screened off from the view of others by the generator and some portable partitions.

What little John could see of himself was not pretty, and he could understand the efforts to discourage gawkers. The skin on the right side of his bare chest was red, swollen, and starting to peel. His arms, loosely wrapped in a cooling, translucent bandage, looked to be riddled with blisters. He'd gotten his arms up to protect his face when the Scarran's heat blasted him, so it wasn't surprising that they had taken the brunt of the damage.

Aeryn and her lieutenant waited--Aeryn patiently, the lieutenant less so. As his mind started to clear from the drugged fog, John realized they both looked utterly exhausted. Aeryn at least, he remembered, had been worn out from a difficult assignment even before the Scarran dreadnought entered the picture, and had gotten no time to rest. He wondered how many solar days it had been since she last slept.

"You okay?" he asked, once his throat finally felt more like flesh and less like sandpaper.

She nodded, then shrugged, which John supposed covered the situation rather well. She was alive and uninjured, true enough, but she was also about ready to collapse where she stood.

"You should get some rest," he suggested.

She looked over at the lieutenant, who smiled and nodded. "Dismissed, Officer Sun."

John wanted to reach out for her, touch her hand before she left, but such things just were not done here, at least not where others could see. He watched as she vanished around the edge of the partition that surrounded him, leaving the mist swirling in her wake.

It took a microt for him to notice that the lieutenant was still standing nearby, looking down at him with a speculative expression.

"Sir?" He wondered what the man wanted with him now.

"Feel up to answering some questions, Sub-officer?"

"Questions?" He was still a bit fogged with drugs, but he quickly caught himself. "I mean, yes, sir."

"Good." Dak nodded. "I won't stay long; these doctors can be vicious."

John smiled slightly at the joke, wondering if the man was uncomfortable talking to an alien as a near-equal and was using humor to ease the tension.

"I was wondering before how a single soldier could have held off dozens of Scarran troops all by himself. I don't see how it's possible."

"That's because it's not."

"Are you saying the report I heard was wrong?"

"I'm not sure what you heard, sir, but I wasn't alone in that hangar."

"What, the techs?"

"Yes, sir."

"What could techs possibly do against trained soldiers? Against _Scarrans?_"

"You know, Lieutenant, they asked me that very same question. You'd be surprised; I know _they_ were."

"You gave them weapons?"

"None to give 'em, sir, just my one lousy pulse pistol."

"Then how the frell--"

"You were right in a way, Lieutenant," John broke in. "They aren't soldiers. If I'd handed them rifles, they'd have fought badly and died quickly. What I did instead was let them play to their own strengths."

Dak tilted his head to the right, silently inviting John to clarify.

"They know this ship, and especially those hangar bays, better than anyone else. They also know exactly how many ways those areas can kill you, because they've seen it happen too many times. Next to the generator room, it's one of the most dangerous places to work on the entire carrier. I just let them prove that to the Scarrans."

He could see the soldier's forehead furrowing as he tried to understand. "Try this, sir," John continued. "Imagine it was you, your team, trying to take an enemy vessel. You go in, and you're expecting to face resistance from armed troops. But instead, you see no one, and find yourself under attack from all sides by things you can't identify. Things that explode on impact, or rupture and spill. The explosives spray your troops with shrapnel or engulf them in fire. The other objects might douse you with toxins, or spray chemicals that suck the heat from your body, or just coat the floor with goo that makes it impossible to keep your footing. And all from an enemy you can't see, and therefore can't strike back at effectively."

"Frell..."

John could see the gears turning behind Dak's eyes. He was about to say more, when he happened to glance past the lieutenant and out into the misty chamber. He froze.

A tall figure, all in black. Hooded. A flash of ghost-white skin.

John squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists, desperately willing the vision away. _It's just a hallucination. It's not real._

"Crichton? Crichton!" The sharp voice snapped John out of his panic, forcing his eyes open. Dak was staring at him with combined annoyance and concern. Warily, John glanced back at the spot across the room, but the shadow figure was gone.

"Are you ill? Should I summon a tech?" Dak asked gruffly.

"Nah." John waved away the suggestion with a bandaged arm. "I'm fine. Sorry about that; must be the drugs."

_That, or the fact that I am completely losing my mind,_ he thought darkly. It was yet more evidence of his ongoing mental breakdown. Instead of just hearing Scorpius, now he was seeing the bastard, too.

The lieutenant dragged John's attention back to the previous discussion before he could dwell on that subject any more. He spent the next half an arn explaining his actions, and those of the techs, in greater detail.

By the time John finished, his audience seemed to have forgotten about him being alien. Or perhaps he simply no longer cared.

* * *

It took ten solar days after he woke up before John was deemed recovered enough to return to duty. The burns on his arms had been pretty deep, and he'd felt lousy enough for a while to be glad of the excuse to just lie in the healing mist and doze. But the past three days had been simply tedious, and John suspected they had been keeping him sequestered for aesthetic reasons instead of medical ones. Finally, however, his skin quit peeling, his blisters faded, and they let him go.

The carrier was limping its way back to Peacekeeper space at a lowly hetch two, en route to one of the central station facilities for major structural repairs. In the meantime, however, the surviving Prowlers and Marauders still had jobs to do, patrolling the area and protecting the crippled vessel. All of which meant that the hangar bays were back in full operation.

That first day back, as he paced the length of the bay surveying the repairs and the remaining signs of damage, John felt like he'd wandered into some strange alternate dimension. On the one hand, there were the techs. The events of the past weekens had apparently infused them all with a new self-confidence. They no longer lowered their eyes or shied away from the pilots, though they were still polite and deferential. They spoke, instead, with the authority of their expertise, and, wonder of wonders, a few of the pilots were actually _listening_.

John marveled at the scene, but his pleasure was short-lived. The invisible voice from the back of his mind mocked the sentimentality. John had caught glimpses of the phantom Scorpius twice more during his time in the medical section, and each time the voice in his head redoubled its intensity. Long months of practice kept him from showing too much outward reaction, but inside he was cringing. It was nearly constant now, though it seemed to fade when he was around other people, as if the wraith did not want to risk calling attention to itself by distracting him in front of witnesses. It was growing harder and harder to ignore as it continued to badger him about wormholes, taunting him with promises of home and threats of imminent capture. And yet, despite the increasing severity, John still hadn't been able to make himself tell anyone about the problem. Every time he had started to confess his affliction to one of the doctors, his voice failed him and nothing emerged.

"Like what you see?" Avena asked, appearing at John's elbow. She had been in charge of the bay during John's absence, and if what he was seeing was any indication, he might as well just go back to bed and let her continue to run things.

The voice in his head faded to a whisper, allowing him to maintain at least the appearance of sanity for the moment. He nodded at the rush and bustle before him. "It's what I wanted," he affirmed, "but the price was too high." There were too many familiar faces missing from the crowd.

Avena tsked. "We Peacekeepers pay that price every day, sir, to serve our people. Those who were lost would be proud to know they spent their lives in service."

They paused at the far end of the bay to watch a half-squadron of Prowlers glide into the landing bay and touch down on the deck. The pilots, too, had taken heavy losses during the battle with the Dreadnought. Nearly a third of the ships had been destroyed, though some of their pilots had managed to eject and been retrieved. There wasn't a single regiment that hadn't suffered massive casualties.

"I wanted to ask you, Chief..." John started, then paused.

"Ask me what, sir?"

"I want to do something. For the techs, to reward them for everything they accomplished. But somehow, giving them a few days off just doesn't seem like enough anymore, and I'm not sure what else I could give that would properly express how grateful I am."

The older woman stared, then smiled. "And to think I believed you could no longer surprise me, sir."

"Well, we can't let that happen," John joked back. "Think how boring your life would be." This, too, was a surprise; his relationship with Avena had always been one of utter professionalism and strict protocol, to the point that John hadn't been sure the woman even possessed a sense of humor. To learn that she did hide one beneath her severe mask was a pleasant change. "The only other thing I can think of," he went on, veering back onto his original topic, "would be to offer them a chance at a transfer to some less dangerous assignment."

Avena actually gasped. "No, sir, please. Don't do that, not if your intent is truly to reward them."

"Why the hell not?"

She paused, glancing away as if marshalling her thoughts. "I think I can safely speak for all of us, sir, when I say we would rather be here. Serving under your command is preferable to that of any other officer aboard ship."

It was John's turn to gape in astonishment.

"Do you realize, sir, that you have not executed even one tech for a failure during your tenure here? Nor have you even truly punished anyone for making mistakes, unless those mistakes were the result of negligence. On the contrary; you have risked yourself to defend us all. Do you understand how rare that is? We would gladly face far more danger than this for the privilege of being treated so fairly. Please, sir, if you care for these people at all, do not send them away. They would rather serve you, even knowing what you are, than any pureblood Sebacean officer."

John was amazed. And flattered. And humbled. And then he realized what Avena had just said and everything ground to a halt. "Wait...you're telling me that they _know_...."

"That you're an alien? Of course. All the techs do. We know far more about what goes on aboard our carrier than anyone gives us credit for, and you have been a favorite subject of tech gossip almost since the moment you came aboard. We knew Gilina Renaez loved you, and you her. We knew the captain blamed you for the death of Lt. Crais, and sent you here as punishment, intending you to die or wither away in disgrace. Most people in your situation would have taken out their resentment on their subordinates; instead, you chose to help us. Is it any wonder that so few of us care what race birthed you anymore?"

John looked away from Avena's earnest, sincere eyes and gazed around the bay at his crew. He had treated them by the Golden Rule, as he would want to be treated himself. Now he reaped what he had sown. "Fair enough. Do you have any suggestions? About the reward?"

She thought about it for a moment, her eyes moving across the bay from person to person. "I do have one idea, sir." She looked sideways at him, the corners of her eyes wrinkling in bemusement. "But you may find it a bit strange."

"'Strange' is practically my middle name, Avena, you know that." He smiled back encouragingly. "Lay it on me."

She told him what she had in mind, and she was right. It was a bit odd. But the more he thought about the techs he'd known over the past two cycles, the more it made perfect sense.

* * *

Forty solar days had passed since the end of the Scarran attack, and for the first time in all those weekens Aeryn Sun finally felt rested. The carrier was once again deep inside Peacekeeper controlled space, which meant that the constant strain of maintaining full-strength patrols with less than three fourths of their usual complement of pilots had finally eased. Most of the wounded were back on duty, and all the repairs that _could_ be completed with the resources available were finished. Life was back to something approximating normal again.

Aeryn was taking advantage of the respite today by indulging in a quick midmeal in the officers' lounge. Barring some emergency, tonight would be her first opportunity to visit the environmental recreation deck since the night of the alert that preceded the Scarran engagement. Perhaps John would be there.

Sensing motion, she glanced up at the door then groaned silently. During one of their late night conversations, some monens ago, John had explained the concept his people called "Murphy's Law". The Peacekeepers had no such belief in the universe's perversity, but seeing Lt. Dak heading straight for her before she'd even taken her first bite, she had to wonder if the humans weren't onto something after all.

"Lieutenant," she greeted, standing as he approached.

"Come with me, Officer Sun," he ordered brusquely. "I require your assistance."

"Yes, sir." She left her meal uneaten and followed at Dak's heels as he strode quickly back the way he'd come, wondering what she was in for.

Instead of the Marauder bay, as she'd been expecting, Dak led Aeryn on a circuitous route through the ship's core to the hammond side Prowler bay. She had been curious about the unusual summons before, but now she could no longer contain it. "Sir? If I may ask--"

"You may not," he interrupted.

Long cycles of bitter experience had taught Aeryn never to argue with an officer who was using that tone of voice. The results were never positive, and usually painful.

As the marched through the main hangar doors--now repaired from the damage Xelstar regiment had inflicted while trying to force their way in--Aeryn saw Lt. Malarr, commander of all carrier-based flight operations, waiting for them just inside. The older officer nodded to Dak and fell into step with him, taking up a position behind him, mirroring Aeryn's own.

Odd. Malarr was Dak's direct superior; she ought to be leading, not following.

"You, Tech!" Dak called out. A young girl, her arms filled with an engine component that looked like it outweighed her, turned at the summons. She snapped to attention as best she could, being so encumbered.

"I wish to speak to the deck officer. Where is he?"

Aeryn blanched. _Crichton_. He must have stepped over the line at last. What the frell had he done this time?

The tech hesitated, glancing at each officer facing her in turn. She bit her lip, seeming reluctant to answer.

"I will not ask again, Tech," Dak growled. "Where is Sub-officer Crichton?"

Fear finally overcame the girl's reticence. She tossed her head aft, towards a knot of people clustered around several ships.

"Take us to him."

She scampered off, still clutching the engine part, and they followed briskly. Aeryn wondered how much trouble John had gotten himself into this time, and why. Knowing Crichton, there _would_ be a reason.

And why was Dak involved? For that matter, why was _she_ here?

The young tech reached Crichton first and spoke to him in a desperate whisper. He turned to see the phalanx of senior officers bearing down on him, then placed a reassuring hand on the girl's shoulder before stepping forward to meet them.

"Lieutenants. Officer." He greeted them formally, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Sub-officer Crichton. Are you aware that there are consequences for the acts you have committed on this deck?" Dak's voice was loud; heads turned all across the bay. This wasn't like him. In Aeryn's experience, Dak almost never raised his voice, not even when delivering a reprimand. This must be very serious, to get him so worked up.

"Yes, sir." John's reply was quiet and proper, but his eyes showed his alarm and confusion.

"I didn't hear you, soldier."

"Sir, yes sir!" John snapped out, much louder. All around the bay, the techs were drifting closer, concern written large on their faces. That, more than anything, told Aeryn exactly how highly John was regarded here. Most officers' subordinates would not have cared.

"And are you prepared to face those consequences, soldier?" Dak asked harshly, pacing around his victim like a Collarta on the hunt, still speaking loudly enough to be heard by everyone.

Aeryn saw John swallow nervously, still looking confused. Wisely, though, he simply responded, "Yes, sir."

Lt. Dak stopped pacing in front of his victim and drew himself to full attention. By reflex, Aeryn found herself following suit, bracing herself for the bad news. She was therefore just as shocked as everyone else by Dak's next words.

"Sub-officer John Crichton: in recognition of your valor and quick thinking in the recent engagement, and the actions by which you saved so many of your fellow crew members' lives--and possibly the entire ship from enemy capture--it is my honor to confer up on you the rank of full Officer."

There were gasps and cheers from all around them as Dak continued through the formal field promotion ceremony. The cheers continued even after he finished, gaining volume, until John self-consciously ordered the techs to pipe down and get back to work. He looked dazed, and Aeryn couldn't blame him. She didn't know whether it would be worth the reprimand to smack her commanding officer silly for scaring them like that.

As the uproar finally diminished and the chattering techs wandered back to their tasks, Dak and Malarr stepped aside for a quiet conversation, leaving Aeryn and John standing alone in the middle of the cavernous hangar.

"Congratulations," she said with sincerity.

He glanced up at her and smiled ruefully. "Yeah. Sure. Thanks."

"Aren't you happy about this?"

He just shrugged. "Don't see that it changes much. Though, on the upside, at least I don't have to call you 'sir' anymore." They both had a brief chuckle over that.

"I don't understand why you aren't pleased." Her own promotions, especially the last one, were some of the proudest days of her life.

"Is this going to change how the captain sees me, Aeryn? Is it going to get me back to working on wormholes, so I can find a way home? Hell, I can't even believe Crais signed off on this--"

"He didn't." Dak joined them at that moment, and Aeryn could see Lt. Malarr heading for the exit. "I sent the recommendation to High Command myself."

"Why?" John blurted out rudely. Aeryn winced, but fortunately, despite his earlier churlish façade, Dak was actually in a fairly good mood.

"Because you earned it," he explained, "and no one else was doing anything about it."

For a microt it looked like Crichton was going to respond, but then his eyes shifted to one side and his mouth snapped shut. He looked away quickly, then looked back, his eyes shifting back and forth restlessly, as if there was something he didn't want to see but couldn't help looking.

Aeryn turned to look at what had drawn John's eye, and saw Lt. Malarr standing at the exit, talking to someone. The second figure was partly hidden in the shadows, so all she could see was a hint of black leather. After a moment they turned and disappeared into the corridors.

She turned back. "What is it?" she asked John, wondering what had upset him.

"Nothing. Just thought I saw someone I knew." He dismissed the incident with a casual wave. Too casual.

Returning abruptly to the aborted conversation, he gave Dak his usual self-deprecating smile. "Well, I'm sure we both know why no one else was jumping in line to pat me on the back."

"True." Dak nodded, acknowledging the point. "And I can't say I don't understand their feelings; I'd be more comfortable if you were Sebacean, too."

"Yet you managed to get past that; I'm impressed." John's expression became sly as he glanced sideways at Aeryn. "It took Officer Sun here six monens before she'd give me the time of day. And after all I'd done for her, too. Rescuing her, single-handed, from the clutches of a nasty horde of escaped criminals, risking life and limb--"

Aeryn smacked him smartly across the back of his head, halting the tall tale in progress, but John just busted up laughing. Dak joined him, more quietly but still genuinely amused, and all Aeryn could do was glare at the two of them and roll her eyes.

* * *

That vision he'd had of Scorpius in the hangar had apparently been the last straw. The microt that Aeryn and the others had left, the voice in John's head transformed from a whisper to a bullhorn blasting his inner ear. And it didn't let up for a moment.

He'd tried to ignore it, tried to keep working, but after a while the hallucinations were joined by a headache the likes of which he'd never experienced, as if someone had shoved an ice pick into the back of his skull and was stirring around for something. The techs were starting to look at him oddly, so finally he made up an excuse and left the crowded hangar for the privacy of one of the little-used storage bays.

Once inside, away from the glaring lights and the quizzical stares, John stumbled forward, drawn like a compass needle to a familiar snub-nosed shape tucked into a dark, dusty corner. He ran his hands gently over the sleek, white surface. "Hey girl," he rasped out. "How's it hangin'?"

The _Farscape_ was silent, a condition for which John was oddly grateful. Disembodied voices and visions of Scarran hybrids were one thing, but if inanimate objects started talking back at him....

_*...blind...blind...never see it coming, will you, John? It will all be much easier if you just give in....give me what I want. The pain...the pain will be over...submit...surrender...I've already won....*_

Oh, who the hell was he kidding? He could feel his sanity slipping through his fingers like water. It was just a matter of time. "Shut up!" he demanded, grinding the heel of his hand against his left temple, and the battle was joined.

Time passed unnoticed; it might have been microts or arns before his solitary struggle was interrupted.

"Crichton?"

From his position on the floor--he'd squeezed himself into the farthest, darkest corner of the room at some point--John looked up to see a familiar silhouette standing in the doorway.

_*Ignore her...send her away...she can't help you, no one can help you...no one but me....*_

"Shut up," he muttered, rubbing a hand across his scalp. The hand came away bloody; he'd managed to scratch furrows into his skin fighting the voices.

Aeryn must have heard his voice; she stepped into the room and moved unerringly towards him. "Why are you hiding down here, Crichton? Visiting that archaic pile of dren you call a spaceship?" Her voice was light, teasing. "Come on, you should be celebrating--"

As she stepped around the _Farscape_ and finally caught a good look at him, she gasped. "What's wrong? Are you injured?"

_*Tell her to go away...do it...if you don't, I will _make_ her go away, and you wouldn't like that, now, would you John?*_

"Go away, Aeryn."

She shook her head, all stubborn resolve, and crouched down in front of John's huddled form. "What's wrong?" she repeated. "Tell me."

He gestured feebly towards his head, unable to form the necessary words.

"The voices?" Her look of concern deepened.

John nodded, the motion more of a twitch than a controlled gesture. Then he groaned and leaned forward, grabbing his skull in an attempt to contain the explosion that seemed suddenly imminent.

"Is it as bad as before?" She sat down on the floor beside him and placed a cool hand against the sweat-soaked hair at the back of his head.

"Worse," he managed to croak, leaning back into that blessed touch. It seemed to ease the pain just a little.

The peace was fleeting however. John suddenly leapt to his feet, unable to keep still, and started pacing restlessly. His arms wrapped around his ribs in unconscious mockery of a straitjacket.

Aeryn's face contorted with both concern and frustration at her own helplessness. "You have to be strong, Crichton. Fight it!"

"I'm trying. I'm trying--Shut up, you bastard! Stop it!--I can't...he's yelling, wearing me down. He wants control, he wants me to go to Scorpius...."

"Scorpius is gone, John, you know that."

"I know, I know. Tell _him _that!" He waved vaguely at his head. "I've been seeing him, you know. Flashes. Everywhere. Ever since the Scarrans boarded. They couldn't have brought him aboard, could they?"

"No, John. Any intruder would have been discovered long ago; you know how tight security has been."

"Yeah. Sure." John continued to pace, his agitation rising by the microt, taking occasional pointless swipes at his head, like trying to shoo away the horsefly that was buzzing around inside his skull.

"What can I do, John? How can I help? If you told the medtechs--"

John burst into slightly hysterical giggles. "Can't. Tried that. Don't think anything'll help, anyway, short of a chakan-oil lobotomy." He chuckled at his own joke, while Aeryn frowned. "That's elective surgery, though--don't think it's covered by my insurance." Another wave of hysterical laughter escaped, despite his efforts to hold it in.

Aeryn stood and grabbed John's shoulders, halting him in mid-step. "Not this time, Crichton. You're going to come with me, and you're going to tell the techs everything."

John shook his head, trying to back away, but she held tight. "But Crais--"

"Doesn't need to know. Trust me, John, the techs will keep him from finding out. They seem to like you, for some strange reason. If you ask them to keep it quiet, they'll do it. I promise. Let them help."

Another jerky nod was all the reply John could muster. As Aeryn led him through the halls, her hand firmly clamped around his upper arm, the wraith in his head howled in protest and clawed for control. Several times along the route he came close to collapsing when the pain and struggle became too much, but Aeryn's firm hold and stubborn resolve kept him on his feet and moving forward.

The sudden increase in pressure from the mental specter he'd once nicknamed 'Harvey', instead of depressing him, actually brought him hope. If it was so desperate to keep him away from the medtechs, then maybe there _was_ something they could do to rid him of it. Why else would it care?

He let Aeryn do the talking, let her say the words he had so far been unable to force past his own larynx. The techs frowned, asked questions John couldn't hear over the din between his ears, and got those grim, thoughtful looks that were common to doctors on both sides of the universe.

While the techs were setting up their tests, John realized it was getting late, and suggested to Aeryn that she go get some sleep. "No need for both of us to be walking around like zombies tomorrow," he pointed out.

"No, John. I'm staying." She folded her arms stubbornly. "I'm not going to let you go through this alone."

John lowered his voice. "Aeryn, I love that you want to help. I really do. But you can't stay; that's just asking for trouble. What if someone sees you? They'll wonder why you're so concerned about some guy who's not even part of your unit. You'd be up on report before you could say 'irreversible contamination'."

She bit her lip, caught for a microt in a conflict between duty and feeling, then raised her chin defiantly. "I don't care."

He silenced any further protests with a single finger on her lips. "But I do," he said quietly. "The last thing I want to do is drag you down with me. You deserve better."

"But--"

Two off-duty soldiers walked in, one of them supporting the other, who was limping badly. A training accident, by the looks of it. The healthy man dropped his companion off on an examination table and turned to leave, giving John and Aeryn an odd look as he passed by.

John raised an eyebrow at her as his point was driven home. He put his hands on her shoulders. "Aeryn, please, just go. I promise I'll be a good boy and do what the docs tell me." He saw one of the techs heading their way and felt Harvey's ghostly fingers scrabble wildly for control once again. Twisting his neck with the effort, he managed to force the wraith back down, then tried to pretend he had just been stretching some sore muscles. "You go on," he said to Aeryn, attempting a reassuring smile.

She wasn't buying the act, he could tell, but she nodded anyway, showing great reluctance. "All right, if you insist. I'll stop by the hangar deck tomorrow at the midmeal, so you can tell me what the techs had to say."

_And to make sure I really did stick around for the tests and didn't sneak off when your back was turned,_ John added the unspoken reason in his head. He smiled, relishing Aeryn's forceful and forthright brand of caring. "See you tomorrow," he agreed.

* * *

Later, as the arns crept towards morning, John was glad he'd sent Aeryn off to catch some shuteye. He certainly hadn't gotten any himself.

On the upside, once the techs started their testing, his own personal Harvey seemed to resign itself to its fate and stopped trying to wrestle his body away from him. Instead, it settled for a constant barrage of verbal abuse. The techs had been treated to a few of John's one-sided dialogues, as he argued and pleaded for the voice to Just. Shut. Up.

Once the tests were done, John had waited nearly an arn while they compiled and analyzed their data, hoping against hope that they'd find a cure. A treatment. Something. _Anything_ to pull him back from the razor's edge of sanity he was teetering on.

But it only took one look at their faces when they came to tell him to dash those hopes onto the floor.

There was something in his head, they told him. Something that didn't belong there, that hadn't been there when they first examined him nearly two cycles ago. At first John didn't understand, but then the tech touched the back of John's head to demonstrate where the foreign object was lodged, and the simple touch sparked a memory.

_Scorpius. Something in his hand. Something metallic and sharp. John hadn't paid attention at the time, unable to pull his eyes or his mind away from the body sprawled on the floor nearby. Then pain, stabbing pain at the base of his skull, and darkness. His next memory was Aeryn. And Stark. _

"The bastard put something in my head," John murmured, breaking the silence of his empty quarters. He wondered what Aeryn would make of that revelation. It wasn't the deficient human going off the deep end due to stress or too long in space, after all. This was something Scorpius had done to him. No wonder he was hallucinating the bastard around every corner. And no wonder Harvey was always badgering him about wormholes.

But while the revelation was comforting in one respect, that his visions had been somehow 'real' all this time and not figments of his imagination, it was also unfortunate that he _wasn't_ suffering from transit madness, since the techs could have actually done something about _that_. With this, they were stumped. Whatever that Scarran half-breed had plugged into his skull might have started out small, but according to the scans the techs had spent the night running and re-running, it had grown, spread, and burrowed its way deep into his brain's delicate circuitry. They'd never seen anything like it before, they'd told him sheepishly, so they didn't know if it was even possible to remove it without causing death or severe brain damage.

They'd promised to keep studying the problem and let him know.

Just as the lights finally snapped on, heralding the start of his shift, the comms in John's quarters crackled to life.

"Officer Crichton," addressed the voice of Crais' second in command, Lt. Teeg. "Report to Captain Crais' office immediately."

Beneath the sound of his own voice acknowledging the order, John could hear Harvey chuckle and mutter, _*I told you so, John.*_

Great. Just great. Somehow Crais must have found out about Crichton's little 'problem'. Whether that had been accomplished through surveillance or was simply the result of a report from the med techs, the result was the same. And if it _had_ been one of the techs, John couldn't really find it in his heart to blame them. Crais was their commanding officer, after all, and no matter how much of a self-righteous asshole the man was, they had all sworn their loyalty to him a long time ago. John was nothing compared to that, just an odd alien specimen who'd been dropped into their laps.

Well, there was no point in delaying the inevitable. Making Crais wait would just make things worse in the long run. With just a quick glance in the mirror to assess his appearance--shadows under the eyes, mussed hair, rumpled and grease-stained uniform--he shrugged and headed for the door. Making a good impression was pretty low on his priority list this morning, and Crais would probably relish the opportunity to complain about his slovenliness.

Two hundred microts later, he was standing outside the double doors to the captain's office.

"Ah, _Officer_ Crichton, come in." Captain Crais gave a nasty sneer to John's new title.

"Reporting as ordered, sir." John saluted, keeping his eyes firmly forward and ignoring the latest hallucination. The silent apparition of Scorpius--no, _Harvey_--was lurking just out of the corner of his eye, near the dais at the back of the large office.

Crais' eyes raked over John's sloppy uniform and sweat-matted hair, but strangely, he said nothing about it. "As of this moment, Officer, you are relieved of your duties as deck officer. You are being reassigned."

John blinked. Well, well, perhaps he'd been wrong and Crais _didn't_ know about his late-night visit to the medtechs. Which meant this was just more of the same old crap, finding new and unique ways to screw him over. _Come on, Captain Crunch,_ he thought tiredly, _quit gloating and just get on with it._

"My first choice for your new duty station was as a target during the next Prowler exercise." John still showed no reaction, and Crais frowned. "Our guest, however, has persuaded me that you can still be of some small use in another capacity."

"Guest, sir?" John asked curiously. Had someone just arrived aboard? Was the Admiral back?

Crais' scowl deepened. "I did not realize your eyesight was quite so deficient as that."

"Hello, Crichton."

It was the oily voice of his nightmares and his insanity, but this time something was different. He was _hearing_ it, with his ears, not from within his own mind.

Glancing towards the sound, he saw his earlier hallucination leaning over his right shoulder, mere denches away. There was a wash of hot breath on his cheek.

And he knew.

* * *

When the midmeal arrived, as promised, Aeryn made her way over to the Prowler deck to find John. As she walked through the main doors, she met Kranda and his squadron heading out, still clad in their flight suits and with helmets in hand. Probably just returning from a patrol.

"Sun!" her former squad mate greeted her brightly. "Slumming down here with us lowly Prowler jockeys again? I'm going to start to think you miss us if you keep this up."

"Not likely," she growled back, matching his teasing with her own.

"We were heading up to the lounge for some refreshment; care to join us?" Several others in the squad, primarily the ones she'd flown with when she'd been in the unit herself, nodded and seconded the invitation.

Aeryn shook her head, honestly regretful. "I'd love to, but there's something I have to do first."

"Duty over pleasure, I understand. If you get done in time, come find us."

"I will." Hopefully, her talk with Crichton wouldn't take too long.

After parting with her old compatriots, Aeryn made a quick scan of the huge chamber, looking for John, but did not immediately spot him. It was odd--he ought to have been expecting her, and it wasn't like there was anything pressing happening on the deck to distract him. All was quiet.

After walking half the length of the bay without seeing any sign of her quarry, Aeryn finally approached a young tech working by herself in one of the smaller maintenance bays. She opened her mouth to ask about Crichton, then forgot what she'd been about to say as the tech's project distracted her attention. Perched on the work bench was a standard Prowler comms array, and right next to it, a piece of equipment that Aeryn couldn't identify. The design looked Scarran.

Though Aeryn hadn't made a sound, the tech glanced up and gasped in surprise. "Sir! Sorry sir, I didn't see you there!"

Aeryn waved her apologies away. "It's all right, Tech, I can see you were concentrating on your work. What are you working on, by the way?"

The young woman went into a long, involved explanation involving Peacekeeper and Scarran signals technology, and her attempts to adapt the former to avoid interception by the latter. Aeryn boggled, both at her own uncharacteristic curiosity about something so clearly outside her purview, and at how much of the tech's explanation she actually understood.

"Is there a problem, Officer Sun?"

Aeryn turned. The chief tech, whom John had previously introduced to her as Avena, had approached without her noticing. "No problem, Chief," she assured the woman. "I was looking for someone, but the tech's project caught my eye. I'm impressed; isn't this the kind of work that would usually be assigned to a comms specialist?"

Avena nodded. "We have no such specialist aboard at the moment, however, so Tech J'hesta is in charge of the project."

"Crichton assigned this to her?" Aeryn could see him ignoring such details of rank protocol if it suited him.

"Not precisely. It's part of Officer Crichton's reward program."

_Reward?_ Aeryn glanced over at the young tech, who was laboring hard during a time that she should have been free to relax. It seemed more of a punishment than a reward--until the girl glanced up at them and grinned. She was clearly having the time of her life. It was, Aeryn realized, perhaps like someone offering her the chance for an arn of free and undirected flight in her old Prowler. A rare gift, indeed.

"After our confrontation with the Scarran boarding party," Avena explained, "Officer Crichton was looking for a way to show his appreciation, since we don't receive promotions or decorations like soldiers. So he awarded each tech who participated in the encounter a free arn every second shift--barring alerts or other emergencies, of course--to work on a project of their own choosing. If the projects show success, the time allotted to them is increased. J'hesta here is already getting an arn every shift, and works through her midmeal break to increase that further. She's making good progress."

Aeryn shook her head, one corner of her mouth quirking up. Techs were weird. And the strangest one of them all--

Suddenly she remembered why she had come here in the first place. "Chief, can you tell me where I can find Officer Crichton? I was supposed to meet him here."

Avena and the young tech shot glances at each other, faces filled with worry and nervousness, but so quickly that Aeryn might have easily missed the exchange. "I don't know, sir," was Avena's careful reply. "I...I haven't seen him recently."

She was a poor liar, and Aeryn felt dread settle into her stomach. "He didn't report for duty at all today, did he?" She pinned her older woman with her best commando glare.

It worked--Avena might have wanted to dissemble some more, but what came out of her mouth was a simple, "No."

Aeryn indulged herself in a few microts of silent profanity, fists clenched tight, then took a deep breath. "And you didn't report it?"

"Well, uh..." Avena fumbled, looking panicked. "I didn't think it was my...I mean, I wasn't sure--"

"Thank you."

Avena stopped in mid-babble and gaped at Aeryn in shock. "Sir?"

"For protecting him. I don't know if you've noticed, but Crichton has been having some...problems lately--"

"The visions."

Aeryn gaped. "You know about those?"

The other woman just smiled, though there was no humor in it. "With all due respect, Officer, we've spent far more time with him than you have. He hides it well, but yes, we've noticed. It's gotten worse these past few weekens, but we've respected his wishes and haven't mentioned it."

Aeryn shook off her surprise and nodded. "I finally forced him to go to the medtechs last night. Hopefully his absence just means they're still--"

The blare of an alarm shattered the quiet conversation, causing all three women to jump. The announcement that followed shattered all trace of Aeryn's former hope. Security was on the lookout for Officer John Crichton, to be detained for the attempted murder of a fellow Peacekeeper. There were no details. Obviously, though, he'd become mentally unbalanced--more so even than the night before. The most recent reported sighting was not too far from where she now stood.

J'hesta looked up at Aeryn, her face pinched with worry. "Do you think he's coming here, sir?"

Just as she was about to answer, Aeryn saw a dozen security grots pour into the hangar through every entrance. "I hope not," she said quietly, "but if he's this far gone, I don't know what he'll do. I should have taken him to the medtechs sooner."

Then Aeryn realized there was something else near John's last known location, something security might not think of. She shot a quick question at the two techs, and at the affirmative replies, took off at a dead run.

* * *

From the shadowed recesses of a cramped access tunnel, John held his breath as another squad of security pounded past, the sound of his own heart in his ears nearly drowning out the tattoo of their boots on the deck.

_Gotta get out._

_*This is pointless, John.*_

_Gotta get away._

_*There's nowhere you can run, John.*_

Possibly true, but he'd be damned if he was going to be taken alive, or a least without a fight. Not that he didn't _already_ have a fight on his hands, what with Scorpy's damned chip clawing for control every step of the way. So far John was holding his own through sheer cussedness and rage; he didn't want to think about what would happen if he dropped his guard.

How the hell had things gone so wrong so quickly? Just yesterday, he'd been accepting a promotion and allowing himself to start thinking he could fit in here, be accepted. Now all that was gone, wiped away by a single act of desperation, leaving him with no one to turn to and no place to go.

It was all Scorpius' fault, of course. The Scarran half-breed--who by all rights should be the one being hunted in John's place--had somehow wormed his way into Crais' good graces, making promises and telling Crais exactly what he wanted to hear. Scorpius was using the captain's grief--and greed--to further his own nefarious plans.

John had been so sure, so confident that Scorpius would never be able to bother him again. The admiral's report should have guaranteed that. From the hints dropped during that nightmare interview in the captain's office, however, the admiral had never reached High Command to deliver that report, and the cocky smirk on Scorpy's face told John that the half-breed had somehow had a hand in the assassination.

The corridor was quiet at last, so John wriggled his way out of his snug hiding place and moved quietly on towards his destination. His life here was gone now, his position, his friends, every ounce of respect he'd earned for himself over the past two cycles. All stolen away by Scorpius in a single stroke. John only had one thing left, one object to call his own. She was his last hope, his only chance of escape, and barring that, at least they could leave this place, this frelled up life, the same way they'd arrived. Together.

There was no one standing guard over the storage bay when he arrived. Good. Apparently his module, like his alien origins, had been gradually forgotten over the cycles.

It took less than two hundred microts, using tricks Gilina had taught him in those long-gone, happy days before Scorpius, to override the controls on the main access doors. Launching the _Farscape_ took even less time--she was still fueled and flight-ready despite the passage of time and the layers of dust.

As the module shot out into the main hangar, John caught a brief glimpse of some soldiers trying to bring weapons to bear. None of them got close to hitting such a fast-moving target, though, and within microts John was racing through the huge maw of the hangar bay and out into open space.

"Wahoo!" he shouted with exhilaration, throwing the module into a caper of rolls and acrobatics for which it had most emphatically not been designed. He let himself become completely consumed by the joy of free flight in space after so many months and years trapped inside that great tin can. He was determined to enjoy these moments to the fullest, since they would probably be his last. Any microt now, Crais would order him shot down and it would all be over in a flash. But this moment belonged to John Crichton, astronaut, and nothing could take that away from him.

That peaceful resignation to fate, however, vanished utterly a moment later when John caught sight of something wondrous and rare not far from his course. A bluish-gray planet, shining faintly in the light of a distant sun. It was a frozen ball of ice, smaller than Earth, but still large enough to have held on to a shroud of atmosphere. It was Mars dressed in blue, and adequate for John's needs.

He'd bought himself some time by exiting the carrier from the hammond side, where there was still no functional weaponry. It wouldn't take long for the ship to change course and pursue him, though, and even as crippled as it was, the carrier could still run the _Farscape _down without any trouble. One sling-shot around this heaven-sent little planet, however, and he could leave his pursuers in the dust for good.

Maybe. It would be a massive risk; even considering it was insane. Without knowing anything about this planet--the gravity, the density of the atmosphere, the magnetic fields--he would have no way to calculate a proper entry vector. It would have to be done the Jack Crichton way--by the seat of his flight suit.

With one hand, John unconsciously fingered the puzzle ring that still hung around his neck under his uniform. The ring's original owner had been the first human to fly in space. That great man had later given the ring as a gift to another space traveler, a man who had walked on the moon. And now Jack Crichton's son had taken it further yet, unknown hundreds or millions of light-years from where it had been forged. He wondered what Gagarin would say if he knew.

As he dove towards the alien atmosphere, John saw a bolt of energy shoot past his starboard wing. The carrier must have turned in pursuit, but the fact that they'd missed told him they were still a good distance behind. He didn't bother looking back.

"Kiss my exhaust pipe, Crais!" he shouted, though with the radio off the only one to hear the taunt was John himself. And Harvey, but he didn't count.

The chip, or the clone, or whatever it was Scorpy had called it, was being strangely quiet at the moment, perhaps realizing that any distraction would almost certainly lead to disaster.

The sling-shot maneuver was the ugliest, bumpiest ride John had taken since his first spinning plunge down the wormhole, and he was just as surprised now as he'd been then to find himself still alive when it was over.

He'd done it! It hadn't been pretty, but he was free at last. Free of Scorpius. Free of Crais.

_*This is pointless, John. There is nowhere for you to go.*_

But not free of Harvey.

_*You'll never be free of me, not unless you go back. Give Scorpius what he wants.*_

"Not. Going. To. Happen," John growled at the disembodied voice.

_*You're all alone out here, John. No place to go, no one to help you. You'll die out here.*_

"If I die, I die, but don't count me out just yet, Leatherface. I'll find a place, find someone to yank you out by the roots, and then I'll find a way to get home."

_*I cannot allow this.*_ The pressure inside John's head increased as the clone once again fought for control. _*I will not allow you to kill us both with this insanity!*_

John was about to snap back with another smart remark when a second pulse of weapons fire flashed by outside the canopy, close enough this time to rock the tiny ship.

"What the--?" No way the carrier could have followed him through that maneuver; John had long ago calculated that the stresses inherent in the sling-shot would tear a ship that big to shreds.

In spite of that, when he looked back John fully expected to see the command carrier bearing down on him. But it wasn't the carrier. A single Marauder was shadowing the module less than half a metra away. It fired another shot, once again missing John by a narrow margin.

How the hell had a Marauder managed to come after him so quickly? Had he just blundered into its path by rotten luck? Or had it somehow followed him through--

A third shot grazed past the _Farscape_'s nose, and realization struck. That Marauder was too close. Any commando team worth their stripes could have destroyed him with the first shot at that range. Which meant...they were missing on purpose. What kind of Peacekeepers fired warning shots?

A sudden flare of hope, and John reached out to flip on his radio.

_"--ichton, you frelling drannit, answer me!"_ A familiar voice, harsh with annoyance and desperation, blared out through the speaker.

"Aeryn?"

* * *

She'd guessed right. By rushing directly to her Marauder and demanding emergency clearance even as her thrusters fired, Aeryn had managed to exit the carrier less than thirty microts behind John's module and set out in solitary pursuit.

She tried calling Crichton on the comms, but got no response. Flight control, on the other hand, was far more forthcoming; Lt. Malarr confirmed Aeryn's authority to apprehend the dangerous fugitive by whatever means necessary. The simple translation of that order was, as John would have termed it, "Shoot first and ask questions later."

She wasn't going to shoot John, though, not if she could help it. He was ill. He needed help, and Aeryn was going to see to it that he got that help, whether he wanted it or not.

When the module veered towards the nearby planet, Aeryn realized instantly what John was planning. She called again, pleading with him to stop and talk to her, but continued to get only silence in return. Even the warning shot over his wing got no reaction, making her wonder if John was so far into his own delusions that he wasn't aware of anything else. And if he wasn't in possession of all his faculties, how could he hope to complete a complex and dangerous maneuver like the sling-shot?

She held her breath even as she followed him in, and only remembered to breathe again when Crichton succeeded in breaking free of the atmosphere at the right moment. He'd done it. Somehow.

She tried a third time to contact John, taking his success as a sign that he might still be in there somewhere. If she could talk to him, she could reach him, make him listen to reason, but his continued silence wore away at her patience. Her calls got progressively angrier until she was punctuating her demands with weapons fire, aimed close enough to singe the tiny module's skin.

Finally, though, when her temper was nearly frayed to nothing, a plaintive, stricken voice called back to her.

"Aeryn?"

"John! What the frell do you think you're doing?" Tact, it seemed, had gone the way of patience.

"Leaving." Simple, to the point, and completely, frelling insane.

"John, you can't do that."

"I was doing just fine until you showed up. How the hell did you do that?"

Aeryn smirked, but didn't feel like letting him in on her secret. "Pure skill, Crichton."

The response was muffled, but sounded like, "Pure _something_...."

It was time to try to talk him down, before he got any deeper into the dren hole he'd already dug for himself. "John, cut your engines. We need to talk."

There was no change in the module's speed. "I'm not going back there, Aeryn. Either let me go or shoot me down yourself. You're not taking me back to Scorpius."

_Scorpius?_ "John, Scorpius isn't there, remember? You've been hallucinating again."

"I am not--damn it, Harvey, shut the frell up and let me think!--I'm not hallucinating, Aeryn! He's there, aboard the carrier, and he's got Captain Crais in his hip pocket. He wants what's in my head, but I won't let him have it. I won't!"

John's module changed course then, veering away in what was either a pathetic attempt at evasion or a worrisome lack of steering control. She followed easily, pulling her own ship closer. This was going to be more difficult than she'd thought.

"John, calm down. You told me you'd been having visions last night, remember? What did the techs say?"

"Scorpy put a damn chip in my head. That's why I've been hearing him all this time. It wasn't me losing my mind, it was the chip. And now he wants it back."

"What happened after that? Why is security after you? Why are you running away?" She bit off the question before she could add a judgmental 'again'.

"Can't fight. Won't surrender. What's left?"

"John, I'm trying to help you."

"Well, do us both a favor and don't. I don't want you getting caught in the middle."

"Too late for that, I think. I'm here, you're here. Talk to me, damn it!"

"Tsk tsk, Ms. Sun. Such language." That was a different voice, John's and yet not. Calm and coolly rational, it nonetheless sent shivers up Aeryn's spine.

There was a growl on the comms then, a roar of rage, followed by a string of invective that was pure John Crichton.

"John?" she queried.

The tirade stopped and she could hear the human take a deep breath. "Yeah, mostly."

"What happened?"

"Just now, or earlier?" The question was dripping with sarcasm.

Aeryn opened her mouth to snap at him, then bit down on her tongue. First things first. "After you left the med bay."

"Got called to Crais' office. Thought at first he'd found out about my little...problem." John's voice trailed off.

"And had he?" she prompted.

"Hmm? Oh, um, actually, no. He called me there to 'reassign' me. Scorpy was there, too."

_He started hallucinating right there in the Captain's office. Frell._ Aeryn touched the engine control, boosting the power to gradually increase her speed. Slowly, carefully, her Marauder crept up on the small, white pod. "John, think for a microt. Scorpius can't be aboard the carrier. He'd have been arrested the microt he showed his face in Peacekeeper territory. The admiral saw to--"

John interrupted her with a harsh, humorless laugh. "The admiral's dead, Aeryn. Never made it back to High Command. Tragic accident in space. S'what Scorpy told me. Way he was smiling, I'll bet he had something to do with it."

"What happened after that, John? Why was security after you?" As if she couldn't guess.

"Crais 'n Scorpy, they had a good ol' time talkin' 'bout what they were gonna do to me. Scorpy wants his chip out, wants the wormhole information from my brain. Crais wants me dead. Or worse. So they made a deal. Scorpy yanks his chip out, along with about half of my brain, and Crais gets to throw whatever's left of me after that into a cell so he can gloat."

That had to be more hallucinations, Aeryn reasoned, dredged up from Crichton's own deepest fears.

"I couldn't take it any more, Aeryn." John's distant voice pleaded for understanding. "Had to get away. Escape. One way or the other. I tried to kill him. Scorpy. Chip wouldn't let me; couldn't pull the trigger. So I ran."

The insane human had pulled a weapon in Captain Crais' office, threatened an apparition only he could see, and then ran out. No wonder security had been hard on his heels. Aeryn was surprised Crais hadn't ordered Crichton shot on sight. "John, come back to the ship with me. They can take the chip out and make you well again. You're not thinking clearly."

"Actually, Aeryn, I'm clearer than I've been in a long time. I'm not going to let that half-Scarran bastard get his hands on what the Ancients gave me. He doesn't deserve it. He killed Gilina. I won't let him beat me."

"John, where do you think you can go? Your module doesn't have the range to reach a habitable planet; you'll run out of air long before you get anywhere."

There was silence on the comms for a long moment, and Aeryn wondered if she'd finally gotten through. "Better that than the alternative," John finally said quietly, dashing her hopes.

_Oh, dear Cholak._ John's mind had clearly been subsumed by his own delusions. There was no reasoning with him. "John, I have to take you back, whether you want to go or not. I hope someday you'll understand that I'm doing what's best for you." She brought her weapons back online from standby, set them at their lowest power, and targeted the module's engines.

"What?" John's voice called back, panic-stricken. "No, don't-- Oh, God. Harvey, don't! Don't make me-- Aeryn! Stay back...please, don't...." The strain in John's voice was heart-wrenching as he fought his own inner demons. Aeryn brought her finger down on the firing button, but at the last microt the module swerved away and the shot merely singed one wing.

And then the chase was on. Aeryn's skill was the greater, honed by cycles of training and trial by fire, but the tiny module, for all its primitive origins, did have an edge over her larger ship in sheer agility. She'd have been better off in her old Prowler.

John's flight path was erratic, swinging wildly between sound evasive tactics he'd learned in the past cycle of training classes, and uncontrolled, unpredictable gyrations. Aeryn was hampered by her reluctance to hurt him, but she couldn't be sure of the reverse. If John was no longer in control of himself, anything was possible. Several times, he flew across her course, brushing close enough to frighten her, almost as if he were daring her to shoot him down.

Finally, after a dozen such feints, the module turned and flew straight at her. Collision course.

With a wrench of the control stick, she veered away, avoiding a catastrophic collision by a mere fraction of a microt. "Hezmana, John, are you _trying_ to get yourself killed?" she yelled through the comms.

The reply was distracted, strained, full of desperation. "Do it...do it...better you than...please, Aeryn...."

The agony in that voice, greater now than even the night before when she'd found him in his quarters, stabbed her to the heart. To hear a man like this, whose courage had so often saved her and others, beg for death....

"Let me help you, John. Let me take you back, so you can get help." She was unused to this, to soothing fears. Mercy and compassion. Weakness, her superiors would say, but if it saved John's life, she didn't care.

"No...no...can't. Told me...."

The brief distraction of conversation had been enough; with his mind on her, John's course had steadied for the few critical microts Aeryn needed. One shot at lowest power left the module drifting dead in space, leaking atmosphere, and its occupant cursing a blue streak. She ignored the stream of insults as she maneuvered to capture the tiny ship in her Marauder's cargo hold.

Once it was safely inside and the hold repressurized, Aeryn killed her engines and set a retrieval beacon. The carrier would find them soon.

John was out of the _Farscape_ by the time Aeryn arrived, slumped against the far wall with his pulse pistol cradled in one hand.

She froze at the sight, worried by the drawn weapon. Under normal circumstances, she knew John would never hurt her. But the circumstances were far from normal, and this might not be the Crichton she knew.

Dark-circled, bloodshot eyes looked up at her, dark hollows bored into a lined and hopeless countenance. Aeryn shivered.

"John?"

There was no change in expression, none of John's characteristic humor at her uncertainty. He looked back down at the pistol, and she could see his hand shaking with effort.

"John, put the gun down."

There was a low sound, half moan and half chuckle. "That's just what Harvey's screaming in my ear, too. Won't let me...." His hand shook harder, the gun barrel rising half a dench and then falling again.

"Won't let you what, John?" She stepped forward slowly, carefully, as if approaching a wild animal.

"Failsafe. S'what Scorpy said. Can't kill him. Can't kill me. Fucking chip." John's bleak, horror-filled gaze tilted up towards her, nearly making her flinch at the intensity of pain contained in those eyes. "You did this, y'know," he accused. "Went down to that gammak base. Brought him aboard."

"John, please, try to think." She crouched down just out of arm's reach, but close enough to lunge forward if she had to. "Don't you think I would have known if I had brought that monster aboard the carrier? Don't you think I would have told you?"

That logic seemed to freeze Crichton in place for a microt. Then he shook his head and gazed back down at his frozen hand around the butt of the pistol. "Doesn't matter. Whether he's there or not, he's still in _here._" His free hand tapped fiercely at the side of his head. "He's fighting me. He wants control. And he's winning."

"They'll take the chip out, John. When it's gone, the voices will stop."

"They can't. They can't remove it, they told me so last night. This morning. Whatever. Not without killing me or leaving me second cousin to a vegetable. Scorpy said the same thing."

Aeryn met John's pain-filled eyes, trying to discern where his delusions stopped and reality began. She should have stayed with him last night and frell the consequences.

Slowly, haltingly, John's trembling hand reached out, pistol held loosely. "Take it, Aeryn. He won't let me...you do it."

She sucked in a horrified breath as she realized what he was asking. "No! You are not giving up, you hear me? We can fix this! Someone has to be able to fix this!"

John grasped her hand gently, easing the pistol into her grip, then placed his hand on her cheek. His eyes, still haunted but now strangely calm, gazed into her own. "Aeryn, listen to me. I see two possible futures. If the chip stays in, pretty soon the Scorpy clone in my head will take over. I'll be trapped in my own body, with no control, while he does heaven knows what. If they take it out, there's a good chance I'll be so damaged that High Command will 'retire' my ass, assuming Crais doesn't kill me himself and mount me on his wall as a trophy, or toss me in a cell, brain damaged and helpless."

Aeryn shook her head mutely, not wanting to hear this. She felt a small vibration through the deck plates, but John seemed not to notice. Time was running short.

"No matter what, I'm dead. Or worse than dead. You understand that fear, Aeryn. Sebaceans call it the Living Death.

"If I go back, Scorpius wins. He gets the keys to the kingdom, wormhole technology, and I don't trust him with it." He raised a finger to her lips to silence her objection. "Or Crais, if you don't believe in Scorpius. Neither one of them deserves benefit from what they've done to me. If I'm going to die, I want to do it knowing they didn't beat me."

He put his hand over hers, caressing both her and the pulse pistol she now held. "You were willing to do it for Tauvo. To spare him more pain."

The Marauder jolted suddenly, settling down hard on the carrier's hangar deck. The vibration she'd felt earlier was the docking web capturing them. John seemed to realize he was running out of time and grew desperate, dragging Aeryn to her feet and pulling the pistol in her hand upwards to aim at him. "Do it! Please, Aeryn...I can't...I won't...please...."

She hesitated. He wanted this. In all probability, he was right, and he'd be better off dying here rather than suffering whatever punishment Crais had in store for him.

She gripped the pistol and shifted her finger towards the trigger, seeing a flicker of hope light Crichton's eyes as she did so.

The airlock cycled.

She couldn't do it. There was still a chance, a faint chance that he could be cured. That she could have her John Crichton back. The man she--

Two uniformed security officers pounded into the cargo bay and grappled the struggling Crichton roughly to the deck. They snapped restraints onto his wrists, then hauled him to his feet. John continued to struggle and rage, fighting every inch of the way, giving every evidence of insanity.

Aeryn lowered the pistol as she watched them drag the human away. She'd go to the captain. She'd tell him what she knew, plead with him to give Crichton a chance to be cured. Transit madness, though it could hamstring a soldier's career advancement, was not a capital offense. She would--

A shadow approached out of the corner of her eye. "Officer Sun, I believe?"

She turned, snapping to attention...then froze, horror-stricken.

"Congratulations, Officer Sun," Scorpius said, a pleased expression twisting his reptilian features. "You have regained me my prize. I will see to it you receive a commendation for your efforts."

Without another word, the Scarran half-breed turned and ducked out of the ship through the open airlock.

Aeryn's knees gave out and she collapsed onto the floor, John's pistol clattering away from her nerveless grip.

_Oh, dear Cholak, what have I done?_

TBC...


	16. The Sound of Silence

**Episode 15 - The Sound Of Silence  
**

_"For everything there is a season...." -- Harvey_

When Lt. Dak finally ducked through the cargo bay door a quarter arn later, Aeryn was still huddled on the floor in shock, staring at nothing.

"Officer Sun!" Dak rushed over and knelt beside her. "Are you hurt?" He scanned her for signs of blood or injury. When she didn't reply, he jostled her shoulder lightly. "Sun?"

Aeryn blinked, emerging at last from her fugue of guilt and grief. "Is it true?" she asked in a small voice. "Did we really bring that monster on board?"

Dak looked confused. "Who, Crichton?"

"No!" She shook her head impatiently. "Scorpius."

"Oh." Dak's demeanor became immediately subdued; he glanced back at the door, as if wary of eavesdroppers. "The Scarran half-breed. Yes. Head scientist at that Gammak base, I was told."

"I never saw him." The tone was accusatory, though whether she was blaming Dak or herself for the failure was unclear.

"He was wounded in the initial firefight--one of our troops mistook him for a Scarran--so he was one of the first evacuated."

That explained it. Several ships had already left, Aeryn recalled, before she took charge of the evacuation. And if Scorpius had spent much of the time since sequestered in the medical areas, then it was understandable that she hadn't run across him.

And that the injured Crichton had been seeing him around every corner.

"Sun." Dak broke into her reverie. "What happened out there? All I was told was that you were in pursuit of Crichton. Was he a spy, then? Trying to escape?"

"No!" Aeryn snapped vehemently. Of course people would think that; Crichton was an alien, after all, and therefore automatically suspect.

"Then what?" Dak looked pained. "I'd grown to respect Crichton; I recommended him for promotion. For him to turn around and try to kill a fellow soldier, and then desert his post...."

"It's not what you think, sir." Lt. Dak knew the official version of her first mission to the Gammak base, but it was time he learned the truth. She knew what she had to do now, and what the likely consequences would be. There ought to be someone left behind who knew what Scorpius was capable of. "It all began a cycle ago," she began, "when Crichton was still a Crewman. The Captain sent him to Scorpius' Gammak base, disguised as a tech."

She told him of Crichton's capture, when he was discovered to be non-Sebacean and presumed to be a spy. Completely understandable, Dak pointed out, given the secrecy and high security of the base. His objections faded, however, as Aeryn's story went on, detailing how Crichton continued to be tortured even after his identity was confirmed by Crais.

She told Dak about the murder of Gilina Renaez--a mere tech, perhaps, but still a Peacekeeper--and about Scorpius' later attempt to interfere with a Special Directorate operation at the Breakaway Colonies.

By the time she finished recounting John's tale of the chip Scorpius had put into his brain, the lieutenant was grinding his teeth in disgust and repressed rage. "I had heard stories about Scorpius, but I never truly believed them."

"He is a monster."

"Since he's been aboard, I've also started hearing other rumors. He has apparently begun maneuvering himself into Captain Crais' inner circle."

Aeryn shuddered at the thought. "Crais wants the wormhole tech; Tauvo used to talk about how ambitious his brother was, how desperate for recognition and advancement. Perhaps so much so that he will even tolerate that abomination."

Dak glanced around nervously again. "We should not be discussing such things. Even here. Scorpius has power, and he is greatly feared. From what you've told me, with good reason."

Aeryn nodded agreeably, pretending to a resignation she did not feel. No need to arouse her commanding officer's suspicions.

Once they disembarked from the Marauder, Aeryn was ordered to attend an immediate debriefing with Lt. Malarr. She endured the cross-examination stoically, while inwardly begrudging every wasted microt.

By the time she was released, over an arn had passed since John's capture. As she strode through the corridors, outwardly calm and composed, Aeryn's mind raced. Where had they taken him? What was Scorpius doing to him? How could she find him, get near him?

Passing through the last intersection leading to her quarters, Aeryn heard a quiet voice call her name. She turned and spotted a slight figure with dark hair beckoning from the shadows of a smaller side passageway. Aeryn glanced around warily. There was no one else in the corridor, so she stepped into the dim, narrow tunnel and followed cautiously as the unknown figure led her deeper into the back service areas.

She soon found herself at a main junction point, facing a group of over a dozen techs. Her guide, she realized on closer inspection, was the girl she'd been talking to a mere two arns before, the one who had been spending her midmeal break working on a comms project. The others were somewhat familiar--anonymous faces from her Prowler days, mostly--but she could not recall any names.

The group was silent, anxious, and Aeryn quickly grew tired of waiting for one of them to muster the nerve to speak. "Well?" she snapped, focusing her gaze on the girl. "Are you going to tell me what you want, or do I have to guess?"

The young tech glanced around at her companions, as if seeking support. Several made encouraging gestures, and one voice murmured, "Go on, Pi. Ask her." The girl bit her lip and looked down, obviously paralyzed with nervousness.

"Ask me?" Aeryn prompted, more gently this time.

"About...about Officer Crichton, sir."

"He's in custody." The simple statement was delivered using the same bland, matter-of-fact inflections that had served to conceal her emotional state through the endless debriefing.

"Scorpius' custody?" It was not the girl this time, but one of the others, his voice harsh and accusing. The sentiment behind the query was echoed by a dozen other silent glares.

Aeryn's façade of cool indifference collapsed under the weight of those staring eyes, washed away in a wave of guilt-ridden anguish. In her pain, she lashed out at the only targets available. She grabbed the girl, who was closest, by the front of her uniform and lifted her almost off her feet. "You _knew_? You knew that monster was here and you didn't warn Crichton?"

Pi's head jerked back as if she'd been slapped. "We thought he knew. He _saw_ Scorpius."

Of course he did. Aeryn took a deep breath, fighting back the tears that threatened, and carefully unclenched her hands from the fabric of the girl's jumpsuit. They could not have known that Crichton would disbelieve the evidence of his own eyes. "Yes," she finally replied more calmly. "Scorpius has him."

Aeryn saw her own grief and anger staring back at her from a dozen faces. These people, she realized, cared for Crichton as deeply as she did. What was it about the man that inspired such loyalty?

Aeryn and Pi spoke at the same moment, their voices overlapping.

"I could use your help."

"How can we help?"

* * *

Taking a deep breath and bracing her shoulders back, Aeryn marched into the food preparation area for the prison level. She wore her old ship-board guard duty uniform, complete with helmet, rendering her appearance both anonymous and vaguely threatening.

"You, Crewman!" she snapped.

The young soldier assembling the trays spun around, startled, then braced and saluted. "Sir?"

"Are the rations prepared for the prisoner in cell four dekka nine?" That's where Crichton was being held; one of J'hesta's techs had teased the information out of the ship's processors, along with the fact that he was due to be turned over to the med techs within the arn.

"Aye, sir." He turned and picked out a tray that had been set aside separately. "I was just about to--"

"I will deliver it."

"Sir?" The young man's double-take would have been highly amusing under other circumstances. She took the tray out of his hands, leaving him fluttering helplessly. "Sir, this is most irregular...."

"Orders, Crewman."

The magic words, as Crichton would have said. The food preparer was young, still intimidated by rank, and did not challenge her.

As she strode away, tray in hand, Aeryn sent silent thanks to J'hesta and her network of techs. She never would have made it this far without their able assistance. The techs' dedication to John Crichton was without precedent. Indeed, the human would already be suffering Scorpius' brutal extraction surgery were it not for the med techs' stubborn insistence that they needed time to study the problem. It was a conspiracy bordering on mutiny, yet it was occurring at a level so far beneath the notice of most higher officers that it might go undetected indefinitely.

The soldier standing watch on the detention level wore a uniform essentially identical to her own, though she fortunately still out-ranked him. He glanced up at her approach and then peered more closely through her visor. "You're not Braton," he observed.

"Very perceptive," she responded in a gruff voice. "I will be delivering the rations to cell number four dekka nine. I have matters to...discuss with the prisoner."

The guard smirked and gave Aeryn a knowing wink. "Heard he tried to desert, that one. The boys who brought him in already expressed their opinion to him. Should I have the med-techs stand ready?"

"That won't be necessary. Just let me in and leave."

It took several dozen microts, brushing off the guard's veiled hints--he obviously had a sadistic streak and wanted to help with the abuse of his prisoner--before the cell door finally shut, leaving Aeryn alone in Crichton's cell.

She froze for a microt at the sight before her. It wasn't the bruises that shocked her, nor the split lip and blood-smeared chin. Those were expected; Crichton had not gone quietly, and she suspected he'd done his utmost to provoke his captors into finishing the job Aeryn herself had shied away from.

She'd been prepared to face John in a rage, or perhaps deep into another depressive funk. What threw her off her stride was the sight of the human lying in perfect repose, hands folded across his chest and eyes half-lidded in utter relaxation, a picture completely at odds with his battered face. There was no sign that he was even aware of her presence, though given the anonymity of her helmeted uniform, it might simply be that he didn't recognize her.

Crouching down to place the tray on the floor, Aeryn twisted her helmet loose and set it down as well. "John?" She took one step across the tiny cell and placed her hand on his arm. Out of reflex, she pitched her voice at a whisper, though the precaution was pretty pointless. If the techs hadn't managed to shunt the cell monitors into a diagnostic cycle, she would be discovered and apprehended no matter how quiet she was.

John's eyes shifted towards her at the sound of his name, then narrowed in surprise. He opened his mouth to speak, but Aeryn laid a restraining finger over his lips.

"Let me talk, John, please. I needed to see you, to apologize for doubting you. I swear, I had no idea Scorpius was aboard." She found she couldn't look Crichton in the eye as she spoke, though her hand still rested on his chest. "I promise, though, I'll make it up to you. We're getting you out of here. When the guard comes back--"

"On the contrary, Officer Sun," Crichton's voice broke in. "I should be thanking you." He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bunk in a smooth, graceful motion.

Aeryn rose and took a step back, all of her internal alarms sounding. "Thanking..." She trailed off, confused. The expression was all too familiar, though Aeryn had never seen John's face wear it before. The cold, calculating, almost sinister look was one she'd only seen before on the faces of hardened Peacekeeper officers, the kind she dreaded having to serve with.

"Indeed." Crichton stood, clasping his hands behind his back and raking Aeryn's figure with a gaze that left her feeling dirty...or vulnerable. "You accomplished what I could not, and allowed me to complete my mission. He was fighting me, you see, and I was not yet strong enough to gain control. He might have escaped, were it not for your timely actions, and then where would I have been?"

"Him? Him who?" This was wrong. _He_ was wrong. Something in the voice....

"Why, Crichton of course."

A cold shill crawled up Aeryn's spine. "Who...?"

"'Who am I?'" The human's face twisted into an evil smirk. "Perhaps the better question would be 'what am I?' I am Scorpius...or rather, I am very sophisticated neuro-chip, containing a mental clone--"

Aeryn stopped listening.

The chip. This was the chip John had told her about, the one Scorpius had put into his brain. John had told her it was trying to assert control, and that it scared him. That fear had been much of the driving force behind his earlier flight...and the main reason for that final request.

Aeryn had come here to rescue John Crichton, to get him free of Scorpius once and for all. But it was too late for that now, she realized. John Crichton was gone. All that was left for her to do now was fulfill his last wish and release him from the torment.

She had failed him once, but she would not do so again.

Quickly, before she could think about what she was doing, Aeryn drew her pulse pistol from her side and brought it to bear on John's head, finger already tightening on the trigger.

But as fast as she was, the clone was faster. John's arm lifted to knock hers aside, energy pulse flashing past his head. The pistol flew from her hands and skittered into the far corner.

Using the momentum from the block, Aeryn spun into a kick toward Crichton's knee. He dodged, swung a fist in a wide arc and caught her across the jaw, rocking her back. Had it truly been Crichton she was fighting, Aeryn knew, she would have had him on the ground in four microts flat. But the chip, evidently, contained not only Scorpius' personality, but also his combat skills.

More blows were exchanged, but the fight was anything but even. The clone's control of John's physiology was sufficient to increase the human's strength and speed far past his usual capabilities, and the blows Aeryn managed to land brought almost no reaction. Aeryn used every trick she knew, but the chip was always half a microt ahead of her.

Finally, the clone slipped a wide, powerful strike through Aeryn's guard, sprawling her onto the floor in a momentary daze. He reached down and gripped her neck, lifting her off the floor, fingers tightening until she couldn't breathe. She clawed at John's arm, raking bloody grooves in the skin, but the clone behind the human's eyes only smiled.

"My dear Officer Sun, how very disappointing. After you fulfilled your duty so admirably before, refusing Crichton's pathetic pleas, I was prepared to be generous and refrain from mentioning your other questionable actions. But I see now that I was incorrect. Crichton has thoroughly contaminated you."

The world was growing dark, her vision fading as the relentless grip cut off the blood to her brain.

John's face twitched, and the ice-blue eyes seemed to focus inward for a microt. Then the evil smile on his face widened. "It seems Crichton has some fight left in him after all. His human tongue has such a fascinating variety of profanity."

It was the last thing she heard.

* * *

He had found the beach again, retreating to the sanctuary of his own mind. Instead of the crowded summer scene he had created before, however, John now found himself alone on a cold and austere expanse of sand in the depths of winter. The water was gray beneath the overcast skies, the wind sharp and chilling.

Aeryn had been his last hope, and her betrayal the last straw. He had raged, clawed, kicked and screamed against the guards who dragged him away--not truly trying to get away, but hoping to provoke them into making a mistake. When he was thrown sprawling onto the bare metal floor and the cell door slammed behind him, he had nothing left. No hope, no future. The clone inside his head had still been struggling for control, and in that moment of despair it gained the upper hand.

Well, if dear old 'Harvey' wanted possession of a body and a brain that Scorpius was preparing to strap down and slice into sushi, he was welcome to it. John would wait for the inevitable here, where he could at least have a moment of peace before the end.

The gentle ebb and flow of the waves against the sand was hypnotic. He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he heard that annoying voice again.

_*Oh, Joooohn,*_ the oily voice teased from behind him.

"Go away, Harvey. Go haunt someone who cares."

_*There's something here I think you should see.*  
_  
"Not interested." John clambered to his feet and began to walk down the lonely beach, away from the creature who had cost him so much.

_*Oh, I think you will be, John. It seems a friend of yours has come to visit.*  
_  
John felt a hand touch his arm and spun to drive his fist into the clone's face, rage momentarily overcoming his resignation to fate. As he turned, though, the scene changed, and his fist smashed into a hard glass wall instead. He winced, shaking out the pain. He stood in a small, dark room, looking through what he recognized as a one-way mirror into his own cell. It was like he was standing behind his own eyes, looking out.

Expecting to find himself alone, as before, he was shocked to look up into the beautiful face of Aeryn Sun. _What the hell is she doing here?_

He wanted to ask, and for a moment he could even feel his mouth opening to speak, but before he could she laid a long finger against his lips.

"Let me talk, John, please. I needed to see you, to apologize for doubting you. I swear, I had no idea Scorpius was aboard."

She was looking down, not meeting his eyes. John had never seen her like this, the confidence and authority that defined her entire being totally absent.

_*How very moving, Crichton.* _John looked around to find the specter of Scorpius standing at his elbow, sneering contemptuously at the scene before them. _*You have quite thoroughly contaminated this one.*  
_  
"I promise, though," Aeryn went on, oblivious, "I'll make it up to you. We're getting you out of here. When the guard comes back--"

"On the contrary, Officer Sun," John heard his own voice say, "I should be thanking you." John felt his body moving, rising to its feet, leaving him no more than a passenger along for the ride.

Like an echo, Harvey's leering voice spoke from behind him, audible only to John himself. _*Scorpius will be very interested to learn about Officer Sun's...lapse of judgment. I look forward to telling him.*_ The leather-clad specter smirked at John's horrified expression, then vanished in a wisp of illusory smoke.

"Aeryn!" John screamed, pounding both hands on the glass that separated him from the world outside, trying to warn her. "Get away! It's not me!"

She could not hear his cries, but as the clone continued to taunt her, John watched Aeryn slowly realize who--or rather, what--she was talking to. He could see the emotions flickering across her face: confusion, horror, and finally determination.

When she reached for her pistol, for an instant he was overcome by a rush of emotion. There was a quick jolt of fear, of course, the purely instinctive reaction that was hardwired into every living being facing its own end. The fear, though, was quickly washed away under the rush of relief and muted satisfaction. Scorpius had tortured him, captured him, stolen everything from him, but in the end the Scarran half-breed would not win. The secrets of wormholes, those elusive keys to the kingdom, would go with John Crichton to the grave.

As she drew her weapon, Aeryn's features contorted in a mixture of grief and resolve. John could see that this was painful for her, and wished it hadn't come to this. She would get over it, though, he reasoned. Death was something she understood, something she had been trained to accept. She'd been surrounded by it all her life, had lost more comrades than even she could count. One more would not make that much difference.

Time seemed to slow as the pistol rose towards him. He watched through the glass, waiting for the flash that would usher in the darkness, keeping his eyes glued to the radiant Aeryn Sun as the last thing he would ever see.

In the next instant, a bestial roar in his ear jolted him out of his calm acceptance. He had forgotten to factor in the clone's reactions, and its preternatural reflexes. John felt his muscles tense, his body shift, and in a blink of an eye Harvey was using his arms to knock aside Aeryn's weapon. The flash John had been waiting for went astray and the battle began in earnest.

The fight was fierce, and John could only watch, horrified, as his own hands and feet struck at Aeryn. She held her own for a time, landing blows that John knew would have had him quickly on the floor under normal circumstances. Harvey, however, clearly felt no pain and was not concerned about any damage to the body he inhabited. Within mere dozens of microts, it had John's hands clenched tightly around Aeryn's throat, squeezing the life out of her, while his voice taunted her.

He saw Aeryn's hands claw at his arms, gouging deep and bloody gashes that he couldn't feel, but she quickly weakened as her air supply was cut off.

"You goddamn fucking son of a bitch!" John screamed, pounding and kicking helplessly against the mental walls surrounding him. A few cracks started to appear where he struck. He could hear his voice pause and then speak a few amused words to Aeryn.

_*It is really far better than she deserves, Crichton,* _Harvey whispered into his ear as he watched in helpless horror. _*She should be facing the Living Death for her treason.*_

"Nnnoooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" John whirled, catching the clone off guard, wrapping his own mental fingers around its scaly throat in incoherent rage. He spun, bashing the figure against walls, squeezing tighter and tighter in desperation. The dark room faded as he slowly wrenched control of his body away from the clone, until at last he opened his eyes and found that his hands wrapped around Aeryn's neck instead of Harvey's.

He could suddenly feel the warmth of her skin, the pain of the wounds she had inflicted in her struggles, the weight of her body on his arms. With a gasp, he pulled his hands away, and Aeryn's body collapsed to the floor like a puppet with the strings cut.

John's vision blurred with fatigue. Was she still breathing?

He tried to reach out to her, but the room seemed to spin and tilt. His legs gave out and he crumpled to the floor himself, his head clanging against the metal wall as he fell backwards.

"Aeryn?" he gasped out. There was no response from the still form.

He scrambled forward, crawling, stumbling, fighting the dizziness, desperate to reach her. "Aeryn?!" he cried again, louder this time, begging her to respond.

Before he could touch her, though, the cell door slammed open and a rifle barrel in his face brought him to a halt.

Glancing over the guard's shoulder, he could see Scorpius standing just outside the cell door, frowning at the scene before him. He made a gesture, and suddenly there were others in the room. Two burly guards grabbed John and lifted him bodily onto the gurney they had brought with them. He struggled, clawing and writhing against their restraining hands. "AERYN!" He was panicking now, but the guards were strong and John was nearly spent. They soon had him strapped down, immobilized, though he craned his neck to keep the dark-haired figure on the floor in sight.

Scorpius stepped into the room and stopped next to her. Using the toe of his boot, like she was something dirty that he did not care to touch, he tipped Aeryn over until she flopped bonelessly onto her back. A med tech approached and crouched down to make a cursory examination.

"Dead, sir," she reported in a bored, business-like tone, not looking up at Scorpius looming over her.

"No...." John gasped. The world stopped when he heard those words. He couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, not even to scream out in anguish. Blood roared in his ears, blocking out all other sounds. He clenched his eyes shut and rode through the next thousand microts in a darkened haze of self-recrimination.

_Dead._

_His own hands, crushing her throat._

_That was Aeryn Sun's reward for choosing friendship over duty.  
_  
The next thing John was aware of was being wheeled into the surgery in the medical area. He didn't remember leaving the cell, nothing since the tech's pronouncement.

"You are certain you can remove the neural chip?" Scorpius' voice spoke from somewhere outside his visual field.

"Absolutely, sir." That voice was unfamiliar, probably another tech or a medical specialist. "Thanks to the records you provided from the subject's interrogation, we have sufficient information to identify and remove the relevant portions with the data intact."

"And the host?"

There was a brief silence. "Probability of survival less than five percent, if you want the chip to be our first priority."

"I do. Once it is removed, the host is unimportant."

"What do you want done with the body when we are finished, sir?"

John stopped listening, no longer interested. It would be over soon, that was all that mattered. John Crichton had lost. Everything.

He hoped Aeryn would wait for him, on the other side. He needed to tell her he was sorry.

Maybe, one day, she might even be able to forgive him.

* * *

For a long time, John drifted, listening to the familiar mechanical background noises of the carrier, feeling distant and disconnected from everything, thoughts fuzzed into a hopeless muddle.

Where was he? After what felt like an eternity of formless existence, there was finally enough coherent thought to wonder where he was, and know what the question meant. There were blank spaces in his mind, holes where he was sure there ought to be memory, voids which drew his attention like a missing tooth draws the tongue.

He lay face-down on a hard surface, a bundle of something rolled up under his head as a cushion. The back of his skull was a mass of dull agony.

He tried to open his eyes, but the first glimpse of light stabbed into his retina like a hot needle. Lids snapped shut and he whimpered softly.

His second attempt at vision was more successful, though the illumination still seemed blindingly bright. Then, in a flash, memory assaulted him, and he clenched his eyes shut again at the pain of it.

_Aeryn! _His mind screamed in anguish. She was gone, gone. His fault. She would never smile at him again, never roll her eyes at his human antics.

It was all gone, everything.

Earth, his home, his family, lost in the vastness of space, a thousand light years out of reach.

Gilina, his love, and their child, cut down before either had a chance to live.

Tauvo, his friend, fallen at his side, victim of both Scarran brutality and Sebacean physiology.

And Aeryn. The promise, the possibilities. Everything she was, everything they might have been together, gone. Murdered by his own hands.

Why was he still alive? Something--a feeling, a fragment of recall--said that he was supposed to be dead by now. Would even that mercy be denied him?

Memories were trickling back to him in disconnected flashes, slowly filling in the events surrounding that overwhelming first vision of Aeryn's neck gripped in his own hand, the life fading from her eyes.

The chip. The surgery. Somehow, against all the odds, he had survived the removal of Scorpy's neural chip. _At least Harvey is gone,_ he thought.

The world flipped around. Suddenly John found himself standing, apparently healthy, on the beach he had created inside his mind again. He looked out at the waves, but the peaceful scene was quickly interrupted by an unwelcome voice.

_*John.*  
_  
He turned and saw Scorpius, or rather Harvey, standing behind him on the sand looking quite un-amused.

"No! You're gone! I want you out of my head!"

_*As do I, John. My work is done, and I have no wish to remain a prisoner here. Finally, it seems, we have something in common.*  
_  
"What's that?" John shook his head, still not quite accepting that the demon infesting his mind hadn't been exorcised by the removal of the chip.

_*We both agree that the best course of action now is for you to die.*  
_  
The world flipped back before John could respond. Opening his eyes, he found himself in his prison cell, face down on the metal slab. He opened his eyes, staring at the blank walls as if they could provide answers.

There was a sound just then. Reflexively, John tried to turn and look, but the first muscle twitch sent pain stabbing like lightning through his head and neck. A tortured whimper escaped his throat and the room turned darker as consciousness receded.

A touch accompanied the low voice, and the world came floating back. A young man's face hovered near him, swimming in and out of focus. He was speaking, in a gentle tone and measured cadence, but the sounds meant nothing to John. _Translator microbes._ The words flashed across John's mind as if from nowhere. Something must be wrong with his microbes.

"I don't understand," he said to the med tech. Or at least, he tried to say that. What came out of his dry and fetid mouth instead was a slurred jumble of syllables, with no more meaning to him than what the tech had said. Maybe it wasn't the microbes.

The tech frowned, obviously having the same trouble comprehending John's words. He said something else, this time using an intonation that sounded like a question, but it was still incomprehensible.

John tried again, but everything still came out in the same garbled mess of syllables.

The tech huffed, impatient and obviously frustrated. He held up something for John to see, and after a microt John recognized it as an injector, used to deliver medicines without a needle. Unable to speak, or even nod, he had to settle for a deliberate blink to show his understanding and agreement. He didn't need to know what it was. The worst it could do was kill him. Or perhaps that would be the best thing.

There was a brief pressure on the side of his neck, a hissing sound, and the tech was gone, door slamming shut in his wake.

John tried to worry about his sudden inability to speak, but the darkness was creeping around the edges of his vision again, the pain becoming more distant as his mind drifted.

_*...the best course of action now is for you to die.*  
_  
As he faded away completely, John was still trying to decide if he disagreed.

* * *

It was cold.

There were footsteps, whispering voices, all hushed.

A small, cool hand touched her throat gently, applying something cold and strong-smelling that left her skin tingling. The area felt bruised, tender. She swallowed, and winced at the pain.

"Officer Sun?" A male voice, speaking softly in her ear.

Her eyelids fluttered, blinking against the light until her eyes adjusted. "Where am I?" she asked, her voice fading from a painful croak to a whisper by the last syllable.

"You're safe."

It wasn't the most informative answer, but as her eyes scanned the room she understood the man's reticence. She'd been in this room exactly once before in her life, as a child, during the orientation tour when she and her crèche mates were shown every chamber and corridor on the carrier.

This was the morgue, where the bodies of aliens were preserved for study, and the bodies of her fellow Peacekeepers were prepared for disposal. Aeryn realized she was lying on one of the metal tables, flanked on each side by corpses.

She turned her gaze back to the man who was still hovering nearby. The face was unfamiliar, the uniform that of a med tech. "Why am I here?"

The tech looked uncomfortable. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it again. His eyes shifted past Aeryn then, widening as if in relief.

Aeryn turned to follow his gaze, and saw a face she knew. "J'hesta! What the frell is going on?"

The young tech stopped near Aeryn's feet, standing halfway at attention out of habit, looking harried and frightened. She bit her lip nervously as if unsure how to answer. The male tech took advantage of the distraction to slip out the door, leaving the two women alone.

Aeryn managed to lever herself up onto her elbows and glared. "What am I doing here?"

J'hesta looked down at the deck. "You're dead."

Aeryn raised a suspicious eyebrow at the absurdity of that statement.

"Officially, I mean," the tech clarified.

"What?"

"You _were_ dead when they came to take Crichton, and that's probably all that saved you. Scorpius had discovered you were in the cell. He had the guard who let you in executed on the spot, and would have done the same to you. The med tech Scorpius brought with him confirmed that you were already dead, so he dismissed you and went about his business. After the others left, she managed to administer a nerve shot to revive you, then gave you a sedative to keep you unconscious. We brought you here to preserve the illusion that you had died."

Aeryn lay back on the table and stared at the ceiling. Her life as a Peacekeeper was over. She was dead to them, and safe only so long as she remained so. If she were discovered, she would be worse than dead. She was a fugitive in her own home.

She pushed those thoughts aside for later; there were more important concerns at the moment. "What about Crichton?" she asked, still gazing upwards.

"He's dead, too."

Aeryn's heart froze for a microt, but then she realized how J'hesta had phrased the statement. "Officially?"

The young woman actually smiled slightly, though it was a thin, anxious expression, and nodded. "He survived the surgery, though it was a close thing. He's in a cell, still unconscious the last I heard, and as far as anyone other than a few techs know, expected to be dead quite soon." J'hesta's expression grew slightly sad. "In actuality, we think he'll live, but we won't know what damage he's suffered until he wakes."

"Damage?"

"Brain damage. There was no way to avoid it, no matter how careful the surgeons were. The chip had buried itself too deep."

Aeryn felt a shiver of horror crawl up her spine, but fought it down and shoved it aside with everything else, to think about later. "So, we're both dead. We need to get off this ship somehow, without being discovered. What's the plan?"

The girl's eyes widened in panic. "I don't know! I'm not...I've never done...."

"You've been making this all up as you go," Aeryn replied, nodding. "I understand. Crichton has taught you well."

J'hesta chuckled nervously.

Aeryn turned on her side and sat up, struggling against the latent weakness from the sedative. "We can't steal a Marauder. They're too slow; we'd be shot down in ten microts. But there's nothing else aboard with the range to get us out of Peacekeeper territory."

"Except the prison transports," the girl pointed out, then shook her head regretfully. "But they've all got collars on, so they're not going anywhere."

Aeryn stared at her. J'hesta got nervous after a few microts and said, "What is it?"

"Moya."

* * *

Waking the second time was a radically different experience from the first. While he still lay face down, the surface was softer, the lights gentler on the eyes, and the sounds no longer rang with the hollow echo of an oversized, empty tin can.

He lay there, gazing blearily at the brown, ribbed walls and the strangely familiar vials of powders and herbs arranged along the shelves. He had been here before.

_Leviathan. _The name popped into his head without effort. There was another name, too, teasing the edge of his consciousness, but it slipped away when he tried to grasp it.

Before he could pursue it further, an insistent sensation informed John that he needed to get up and walk to the 'fresher if he wanted to avoid wetting the bed. There was no one around that he could see, so it was up to him.

He tried moving his arms first and, to his relief, found that his muscles, while weak, were working again. It took a lot of slow, careful movements, not to mention the fortuitous presence of tables and walls for support, but he managed to reach his destination in time to avoid an embarrassing accident.

On the trip back to the bed, however, a wave of dizziness washed over him. John stumbled and fell against the work table, sending bottles and jars crashing to the floor. A microt later, he joined them as his legs crumpled underneath him.

"Damn it!" he tried to exclaim, but the words came out garbled. He remembered that happening before, but had hoped it was a side-effect of the anesthesia. Frowning, he tried again, this time attempting one of his favorite childhood tongue twisters. "Gah bahs zazor...."

He stopped there, seeing no point in going further. He could feel the words forming in his mind, but what came out was just so much gibberish. Not even translator microbes would decipher it.

_*Do you see now, John?* _Harvey crouched down beside him. Before his eyes, the empty room had transformed into his mental landscape. He found himself sprawling on the cold sand, surrounded by broken shells and rotting seaweed. _*Do you see that there is nothing left for either of us?*_

John felt weary all of a sudden, worn thin and brittle by the weight of events. "Go away, Harvey." He could still talk here, at least.

_*Aeryn is dead.*_

A wash of grief. Tears stung his eyes. Harvey knelt down by his side, placed a leather coated hand on his arm.

_*Your ability to communicate is gone.*_

Long cycles of loneliness stretched out before him, an eternity of empty, hopeless days. Harvey turned his hand over and placed an object in his palm.

_*I am the only one you will ever speak with again.*_

Worse than being alone, to be trapped in the confines of his own mind with this specter of evil.

_*End this, John. Free us both from the endless misery.*_

John blinked the blurriness from his eyes, not bothering to wipe the tears away when the ran down his nose. His gaze fell on a jagged broken shell in his hand, the mother-of-pearl interior shimmering and glinting in the sunlight.

It was a thing of beauty. The gloved hand closed his fingers around it and moved it into place. _*Yes, John,*_ the clone breathed.

There was a faint sound in the middle distance, an indrawn breath, footsteps approaching rapidly. "Crichton!" The voice was far away.

Strong fingers gripped his hand, pulling it away from his wrist. Pain shot up his arm as he felt the sharp edges of the shell cutting into his palm. Another hand touched his face, lifting his eyes upwards. The bright whiteness of the beach faded into the dim browns of the Leviathan chamber, and a sinuous figure of blue in the foreground.

He felt as if he was waking from a nightmare, and it wasn't until the pain forced his eyes back down to see a piece of broken glass in his hand, smears of red staining the edges, that he realized the reality.

The woman's hand came away from his cheek. Slowly, gently, she pried apart the fingers of his other hand and removed the shard from his grip. The cuts were deep, but not dangerous.

"Why, John?" The woman's voice was kind, full of sympathy and concern. Like the ship itself, she was somehow familiar to him, but his swiss-cheese memory could not find a name for her. And as comforting as her presence was, she wasn't the person he wanted to see.

He looked into the woman's blue eyes, so like his mother's, and tried to convey to her without words that she should leave well enough alone. It might have been Harvey's impetus, but John no longer had the will to argue with the clone.

Hope. It had kept him going for two cycles, through every hardship and failure and loss. But he had killed that hope with his own hands, and without that...without her.... If this strange blue woman would just go away, he could finish what Harvey had started, see her again, see everyone again--

There was a hiss of indrawn breath from the direction of the doorway. John looked up...and realized that he had finally, once and for all, lost his ever-loving mind.

* * *

Aeryn stood frozen in the doorway, struck dumb by the scene before her: John Crichton, still bandaged and weak, sprawled on the floor amidst a sea of broken glass and scattered herbs. The glittering shard in Zhaan's blue hand, stained red with human blood, loomed large in her eyes.

John's eyes shifted up to see her standing there. She expected him to be surprised, even shocked, and for a microt those emotion did cross his face, his eyes going wide. What she hadn't expected was the fear that followed.

John shouted something unintelligible, pulled away from Zhaan's restraining hands, and started to scramble back away from them both. In his panic, he seemed to not notice the glass all around him and managed to acquire several more deep cuts on his hands, arms, and bare feet as he fled. He continued shouting, the words mangled, alternating between pointing at Aeryn and trying to ward off Zhaan's concerned advance.

Eventually, after a struggle, the Delvian managed to grab hold of both of John's wrists and get him under control. Aeryn hadn't moved from the doorway, but even from there she could still see him trembling, his eyes darting between her and the Delvian. He continued to whisper urgently, as if trying to warn Zhaan of something, but still nothing he said made the slightest sense.

Slowly, carefully, Aeryn stepped into the room, her boots crunching loudly on the debris as she approached. "Zhaan, what's wrong with him?" she asked in a quiet voice. Crichton flinched at the sound and squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head violently in denial.

"I do now know, dear," the priestess replied sadly. "When I arrived, he appeared in a type of trance or fugue state, holding this," she gestured with the blood-smeared sliver, "like a weapon. I fear he might have harmed himself had I not intervened. His speech seems to be severely impaired, most likely by the surgery you told me about. His current distress, however, seems focused on you."

Aeryn gasped in realization. "Oh, for the love of Chilnak...J'hesta told me, the med tech declared me dead, to fool Scorpius. John was there, he must have heard that. He must think I'm just another hallucination, or a trick being played on him."

She knelt down next to the Delvian and tried to look Crichton in the eye. "John, it's me. I'm alive. I'm here. I got you away from him."

Crichton's only response was to wrench his hands away and wrap his arms around his head, curling himself into a ball and rocking back and forth.

It was all Aeryn could do not to growl in frustration. She wanted to slap some sense into the frelling human. She wanted to run from the room. She wanted to wrap him in her arms.

"Can he even understand us?" she finally asked.

The Delvian woman was gazing compassionately at the huddled form. "I do not know if he lacks understanding, or simply refuses to hear."

Aeryn nodded somberly. "He's suffered hallucinations for monens thanks to Scorpius' frelling chip."

"And so he has learned to distrust his senses. Quite understandable."

Sitting there, looking at the huddled form of John Crichton, Aeryn could not help but remember the nights they had spent together all those weekens ago, talking in the planetary terrains. She remembered the quiet companionship they had shared. Most of all, though, she recalled their last meeting before the carrier went into battle against the Scarrans. He had kissed her, touching her in something more than friendship for the first time since they met, and had seemed to draw strength from that. And just a few solar days ago, when the mental attacks of the chip had been at their worst, he had been comforted for a time by her hand stroking his head.

John's eyes and ears had betrayed him far too many times, but perhaps there was one sense he could still trust.

Slowly, carefully, Aeryn reached across the space separating them and brushed her fingers against John's hand. He flinched, then froze, his face still hidden. She wrapped his hand gently in her own and squeezed it, willing the feel of her living touch to get through to him.

Within microts, his head came up and he stared at the fingers that were holding his. Aeryn reached out with her other hand and touched his face, lifting his gaze with gentle pressure to meet her own.

John's eyes were wide, frightened, almost as if he did not dare hope that she was real. His free hand came towards her and first brushed tentatively against her hair, then took and held a lock of it in a feather-light grasp as if fearing she might fade away at any moment.

Moisture pooled in his blue eyes as they hung in that tableau for several microts. Finally, with a sob and a sudden fervor, John reached out and wrapped Aeryn in a desperate embrace. His voice was choked, full of relief and joy, and while the words were muddled, Aeryn knew exactly what he was saying. She embraced John in return and let herself bask in the careless joy of the moment, neither of them caring what had been or what might yet be to come.

* * *

_Aeryn's alive.  
_  
John sat on the edge of the examination bed he'd woken up on, watching in silent amazement as the two women cleaned up the mess he'd created, with the help of some little yellow robots. He couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from Aeryn, still half-fearful that if he blinked, she'd vanish.

He wanted to talk to her, ask her what had happened. Why was he here, instead of in a cell aboard the carrier? How was she alive, when he'd been so certain he'd killed her? He hadn't imagined it, he was sure--the bruises still visible on her throat told that story.

Harvey's voice continued to whine and growl in the background, trying to push him back towards the precipice the blue woman had pulled him back from earlier. That was another reason he kept staring at Aeryn; as long as he kept her in sight, he could block out the clone's morbid whispers, fight the misery.

Aeryn glanced up and saw John looking at her. She paused, cocked her head to one side in a curious expression, then rose gracefully to her feet and walked over to him. "Is something wrong?"

John shook his head, then reached out to touch her hair again, letting the soft strands run through his fingers. Aeryn smiled, then reached up and grasped his hand, twining her fingers into his.

_*She'll leave, you know.* _The clone's whispers gained volume. _*You're useless now, and she'll soon realize that. She's a Peacekeeper, born and bred, and helping you has cost her everything. Your weakness will disgust her.*  
_  
John clenched his eyes shut, gripping Aeryn's hand harder in desperation as the clone dredged up his darkest fears.

_*It's hopeless. One by one, they'll abandon you. You'll be alone, with no one to talk to but me. You'll never find your home, never see your family again. Eventually, Scorpius or Crais will find you, and you will spend your last arns screaming in the Chair.*_

There was a voice, as if from a distance but growing nearer, cutting through the clone's rant. "John? John, can you hear me?"

Fingers touched his cheek, and he opened his eyes to see Aeryn's face just denches away. "John, what's wrong?"

He tried to gesture towards his head, made a talking motion with one hand, but he could see that neither woman was understanding. Apparently translator microbes didn't work on sign language. Finally John shook his head, frustrated at his inability to explain.

"Frell this," Aeryn exclaimed. She turned to the blue woman. "Something is wrong, but he can't tell us what it is. We need a way to communicate with him, Zhaan."

_Zhaan._ That was her name. Bits of memory, conversations, experiences, all flashed across John's mind. He remembered her now. Delvian. Priestess. The kindest, gentlest person he had met on this side of the universe, and yet she had been, by her own admission, justly imprisoned for a murder she admitted committing.

He remembered something else, just a brief flash of a long-ago conversation. He and Zhaan had spent quite a few arns on their journey to the Royal Planet talking about their respective home-worlds. Their customs, their beliefs, their rituals. One thing had stuck in his mind, because of its similarity to a familiar science fiction concept. He'd even given it a nickname in the privacy of his own thoughts: the Delvian mind-meld.

With a look and a wave, he beckoned Zhaan over to him. Gently, he took one of her hands and brought it to the side of his face, looking into her eyes, willing her to understand. She looked perplexed, so he tried pointing once at her forehead, then at his own. The Delvian's blue eyes widened in shock as she finally understood what he was suggesting. She shook her head and tried to pull away, but he held her hand in place and pleaded silently with his eyes.

"No, I cannot, John," she murmured.

"Can't what?" Aeryn looked at them both with a stern glare.

"He is asking me to try Unity, but I cannot risk it. I have never attempted such a thing with another race. His mind is untrained, and he has been so weakened by events...it could make things worse."

"What is this...Unity?" Aeryn asked dubiously.

Zhaan explained to her the ritual merging of minds and its role in the Delvian Seek, as she had to John so long ago. "In theory, it could allow us to communicate without the distraction of language, but as I said, I have never done this with any but another trained Delvian Pa'u. I could damage his mind even further."

John shook his head, pulling Zhaan's hand back to his face with more determination. He'd take the risk, if it meant he could talk to someone, tell her about Harvey and his insidious whispering.

"I think he wants you to try it anyway, Zhaan. It must be an unbearable torment for the human not to be able to talk." She shot John a wry glance and a smirk.

He smiled back. Aeryn's jokes were rare and precious things, even when they were at his expense.

He turned back to Zhaan, who still looked dubious.

From the dark corner of John's mind, Harvey broke into his thoughts again. _*You see? It begins already. They say they care--*_

"They _do_ care!" Eyes clenched shut against the pain of the intrusion, John growled at the phantom. "Aeryn cares. She came back for me, got me away from Scorpius."

Harvey scoffed. _*A lapse of judgment she will soon come to regret, I assure you.*_

"John?" Aeryn's cool hand on his cheek drew John back towards reality.

_*You'll see. She's lost everything thanks to you: her place, her life, her reason for existence.*  
_  
Aeryn's eyes were full of concern now, but Harvey's words dug into John's heart.

_*She's alone, now, stuck with an inferior alien who can't offer her anything, even simple conversation.*_

John pulled away from the comforting hands, drawing his knees to his chest and covering his ears in a pointless gesture of denial, as if it could keep him from hearing the clone.

_*You realize, she could probably go back if you were dead. Scorpius might decide she was actually trying to kill you in the cell, out of revenge for your 'defection'. Revenge is something he understands, something he might even forgive.*_

He would not listen to this. Would not admit, even to himself, how much sense the specter was making.

_*We were so close. Who cares if she lives for now, what does that change? If she is not captured and punished with the Living Death, she will grow to despise you and abandon you. She will have to eke out a pathetic existence away from everything she knows, and will likely meet her end quite soon, in some dark back alley, alone.*_

Through tear-blurred eyes, John could see the pistol riding in its usual place at Aeryn's side. Always a soldier. Never leave home without it.

_*You can save her. Release her from that fate. Release yourself from the guilt and loneliness that will surely haunt you for the rest of your days.*_

He looked up at Aeryn's eyes, drinking in her features, heedless of the tears running down his face. She stepped closer, drawn by his gaze, and he reached out with his right hand. She met his gesture, palm to palm, and he let their fingers twine together.

_*Free us from each other, John.*_

Even if he could speak, there would be no words. He gazed deeply into Aeryn's eyes, blocking out everything else. She looked back at him curiously, then frowned. He wondered what she saw in his face that so puzzled her.

And then he knew. In a flash, he felt his body move under Harvey's control. Using his grip on Aeryn's hand for leverage, Harvey spun her around so that the holster riding her right hip was facing him. He pulled the weapon free and shoved Aeryn away, throwing her off balance and delaying her reaction for that one precious microt. John saw her spin around, stumbling against the unexpected motion, and watched her eyes widen in horror as she realized what was happening.

Time seemed to slow. The pistol rose into position as Aeryn scrambled to reach him. She would not be fast enough, though.

He closed his eyes. This was his gift to her, the only thing he had left to give. His life for hers.

A strong hand grabbed his wrist and wrenched his arm away, hard enough to nearly dislocate his shoulder. It slammed his hand down on the bunk, dislodging the pistol from his grip and sending it spinning off across the floor. Dazed, John could only blink at the blue hand holding him in its grip, and the implacable face of the Delvian priestess glaring down at him.

An instant later, Aeryn was on him, gripping both of his arms and forcing him down against the surface of the bunk, screaming Sebacean obscenities into his face while tears ran down her own.

Harvey screamed too, a howl of frustration that was quickly echoed from John's own throat. He bucked and struggled against the restraining hands, but between Aeryn's skill and the Delvian's strength, they quickly had him pinned and helpless.

Eventually silence fell over the room, marred only by the heavy breathing of all three combatants. "Zhaan," Aeryn gasped. "It was the neural clone, it's still in his head. I saw something, just before he went for my weapon. It wasn't John."

She paused, looking from John's face to the Delvian's. Her voice dropped into a pleading tone. "We cannot hold him here forever. The clone is driving him to this, and next time it might succeed. You're the only one who can help John force it out. The risks are no longer important."

John could not see much of Zhaan's face from this angle, but he saw her fold her hands prayerfully, then run them over the sides of her head in a familiar gesture.

Before he knew what was happening, two palms settled lightly on the sides of his face and the Delvian's intricately-patterned forehead dipped down to touch his own. The chamber disappeared and darkness closed in.

_What is this? Where am I?_

_Unity._

_You shouldn't be here. Go away, there's no point._

_Listen to the human, Priest. Hear his suffering. Taste his pain._

_You are the source of his suffering, the cause of his pain. Remove you, and he will be whole again._

_He's too strong, I can't fight him._

_His strength was the device Scorpius planted within you. It is gone._

_And I wish that I had departed with it. I have no more desire to be imprisoned here than he has for me to remain._

_There's nothing left for me, Zhaan. Everyone I love is lost to me, everything I had stripped away. With me gone, Aeryn can go back, have the life she wants._

_Perhaps you do not know what Officer Sun wants. I think she does not even know herself. Would you deny her the chance to discover what that is?_

_I just want her to be safe._

_Go away, Priest. There is nothing you can do here but meet your own destruction along with his._

_So you would like him to believe. John, this is your mind, not his. He is a trespasser. The only power he has is that which you give to him._

_..._

_Remember what he has done--_

_He nearly killed Aeryn._

_--what he has cost you--_

_My place among them. My chance to go home._

_John, be reasonable..._

_I can help you fight him._

_Can we win?_

_No._

_Yes._

_Guess that makes my vote the tie-breaker...._

* * *

John lay motionless on the cot, Zhaan hovering like a statue over him, their foreheads pressed together. The only movement visible was behind John's eyelids, a constant flickering and twitching that began less than a hundred microts after they started this "unity" thing.

Aeryn realized she was drumming her fingers against the butt of her pistol, now safely returned to its holster, and stilled her hand through force of will.

She hated waiting.

Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the jerky movements behind John's eyelids increased. Then suddenly, as if they were a single entity, John and Zhaan's muscles tensed and each gasped out a breath. John's hands clenched into fists, while Zhaan's once-gentle hold on the sides of his head grew firmer, her fingers pressing into his skin.

Aeryn stepped forward, then stopped, helpless to render any aid. This was a battle she could not fight.

The synchronized breathing of the human and the Delvian grew harsher, faster, until with a choked cry John arched away from the surface of the examination table, every muscle straining. His face contorted into a grimace of pain.

Aeryn was almost ready to tear the Delvian's hands away from him, stop the torture John was clearly enduring, but just as suddenly both of their bodies went limp and their breathing quieted. She though she saw a brief twitch at the corner of John's mouth, like the bare beginnings of a smile, but it was gone before she could be sure.

There was another stretch of endless, silent microts as the two fell back into their earlier pose of relaxed meditation.

Eventually Aeryn, too, managed to relax, though she still watched John carefully for any further signs of distress. Nothing more was apparent, but she was so intent in her scrutiny that she jumped when his eyes finally popped open.

John looked around the room blankly for a moment, then locked his gaze with Aeryn and broke into a wide grin. He held up a single clenched fist and pulled it back to his side in a vehement gesture she didn't quite understand. Given his expression, though, she assumed it was something good.

Zhaan had released him and stood back. After a moment of prayerful silence, she looked over at Aeryn. "You were correct, Officer Sun. The neural clone which had infested John's mind was still present, still exerting influence. I helped John understand that in the absence of the clone's physical source in the neural chip, what remained was weakened, and well within his power to subdue."

"So it's gone?"

John shook his head with a grimace of distaste, while Zhaan voiced the reply. "Not gone, but contained. Once he realized he could defeat the clone, John was...most forceful."

Aeryn looked at John, who merely shrugged. "What about his speech? Can you fix that?"

John looked up at Zhaan as well when she asked this, obviously just as curious as Aeryn.

"As you can see," the priestess said, nodding at him, "he understands us fairly well, although I believe that may be more the function of the translator microbes than anything. The damage is extensive. My herbs can aid in the healing of the surface injuries and prevent infection. A Diagnosan might be able to do more, but unless his brain is significantly different from other species', this is not something I can heal."

John looked down at his hands and clenched them into fists. Aeryn understood the disappointment. She put a hand on his shoulder and felt him trembling.

Zhaan stepped forward and tipped John's face towards her with a gentle hand. "Have faith, John," she said kindly.

He tried to brush her off and turn away, but she held firmly onto his chin and kept him facing her. "There _is_ hope," she insisted. "The brain is a remarkable organ. Resilient. Flexible. It cannot regenerate, but it can be retrained. Given enough time and patience, I believe you can re-learn what you have lost."

On impulse, Aeryn squeezed his shoulder where her hand was resting. "I will help," she assured him.

"As will I," Zhaan affirmed.

"As will Moya and myself," came a new voice. The clamshell mounted on a nearby wall flickered, and an image of Pilot appeared. "Moya, too, is slowly recovering from a type of brain damage, due to NamTar's sabotage. She understands what you are going through, Officer Crichton, and would be happy to share any part of her experience which might help."

John, likely out of reflex, tried to respond to Pilot, but of course the words were unintelligible. He cut himself off quickly with an annoyed scowl.

"You are welcome, Officer Crichton."

John's eyes shot towards the clamshell image, gaping in shock. Aeryn voiced the question. "You can understand him, Pilot?"

The symbiont paused and cocked his huge shelled head before replying. "Not the words, no. Because of my bond with Moya, I am accustomed to non-verbal communication. There are many ways in which sentient beings communicate that transcend spoken words."

"That's wonderful, Pilot," Zhaan smiled.

John's eyes brightened and suddenly Aeryn saw something in his face that had been missing for a long time. He immediately jumped to his feet and limped over to the clamshell, babbling away in rapid cadence at the image hovering there.

Aeryn had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. She'd been right; being unable to talk had indeed been sheer torture for the human, but now he had an audience.

* * *

With a soft groan, John collapsed onto the bench and laid his aching head down on the table in the Center Chamber.

"Are you all right, John?" Aeryn asked, caressing the back of his head lightly.

He reveled in her touch for a moment, then raised his face and nodded. He was fine. Exhausted for sure, both mentally and physically, but that was to be expected. It had been less than seven days since the surgery, after all, and he and Aeryn had spent the past three arns trying to fill in his tattered, Swiss-cheese memory of Moya's layout. They'd probably walked several miles.

There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so many things he needed to know. About how they had escaped, and why they had come _here_ of all places instead of getting as far away from Scorpy and Crais as possible. And about why Aeryn was here at all, why she had given up so much so pull his sorry ass out of the fire yet again.

He'd tried asking the questions through Pilot, but contrary to his initial hopes, his ability to communicate with the huge symbiont was quite limited. Simple, emotional cues like gratitude or hunger transmitted well, but more complex ideas simply could not get across the linguistic gulf. So John was left wondering.

As Aeryn bustled about the Center Chamber, gathering food and utensils, he couldn't take his eyes off of her. Part of him still had trouble believing she was really here, alive and well. He still saw flashes, every time he blinked, of his own hand squeezing her throat, her mouth gaping, her eyes pleading and frightened.

He swallowed the bile that threatened to rise up at those memories and shivered. When Aeryn finally put down a plate of food cubes in front of him, his appetite was gone. Even at the best of times, it was a struggle to eat these chunks of tasteless, unappetizing 'nutrition'. Lately, more often than not, it was a battle he ended up surrendering.

Aeryn had no such difficulties, chewing her way through her own plate of cubes with single-minded efficiency. But then she had spent half her life eating the things, during missions and training away from the well-provisioned carrier, so to her it was normal. John just wanted a burger and fries from the nearest fast food joint.

He set the cube down on the plate, unable to take a bite. Without even the distraction of conversation to keep his mind awake, he ended up playing with the colored blocks. Eyes half-lidded, his head propped up on one hand, John built towers and formed random designs on the plate while his mind wandered.

Exhaustion aside, John felt a hundred percent better now than he had five days ago when he first woke. Harvey was firmly locked down in the cage Zhaan had helped him construct. Having control of his own mind again, after so long, was a relief. Even knowing how precarious their situation was, hiding practically under the noses of his bitterest enemies, John felt better now than he had in monens.

John smirked as he looked down at his plate and the designs his hands had built while his mind wandered. A smiley face, an edifice he privately dubbed the Leaning Tower of Food Cubes, and a curved line twining through them like a snake.

Wait.... What the hell? Was it possible?

Hands shaking, John swept the food cubes off his platter and started a new design, very deliberately. The motion caught Aeryn's attention and she turned towards him.

"John, what's the problem? Why aren't you eating?"

John just shook his head as he carefully placed the last food cube and gazed down at the pattern. All thought of weariness washed away in a flood of discovery. He stared for a long moment, then turned to Aeryn to speak, only to shut his mouth again with a frustrated growl. He gazed once again down at his plate, slammed his palms against the table, then jumped up and bolted for the door. He heard Aeryn's voice call after him, but paid it no mind.

* * *

"John?" Aeryn called out to the retreating figure, but he did not turn or pause in his rush away. Confused, she gazed back down at the pattern he had so carefully constructed on his plate. Three strange shapes -- one vaguely triangular, one a broken circle, and the middle one looking strangely like the Luxan symbol for 'female' -- but none of them held any meaning for her.

She rose from the table and left the center chamber, intent on following the human, but he had long since vanished into the maze of corridors, leaving no clue as to his destination.

"Pilot?" she called to the air.

"Yes, Officer Sun?"

"Can you help me find Officer Crichton? He just left the center chamber in a hurry and I'm worried he'll get lost."

"I will have the DRDs begin searching immediately."

Rather than wait idly for news, Aeryn started retracing their steps, revisiting locations with which John had been recently reacquainted. He wasn't on command, or in the maintenance bay, or on the terrace. As time passed with no sign of him, she began to grow more concerned that he had wandered into an unknown part of the ship.

"Officer Sun?"

"Yes, Pilot, have you found him?"

"Officer Crichton is currently in the living quarters he inhabited during our journey to the Royal Colonies. He is not responding to my queries, but seems very intent on something."

_In his old quarters?_ That was one place they hadn't visited yet on their tour; he must have remembered it on his own.

When she arrived at the open doorway, John was huddled on the floor with a scrap of diagnostic flimsy and a marking stylus. She called his name several times, but got no response until she moved to his side and touched his shoulder.

The expression on John's face as he turned to look up at her was a shocking mixture of joy and excitement. He gestured towards the flimsy he'd been so intent on and Aeryn followed with her gaze. The surface was covered with lines of geometric figures, some of which resembled the shapes John had left on his plate in the Center Chamber. Though the symbols meant nothing to her, Aeryn did finally realize what they were and what had John so excited.

"You can write?" The human nodded ecstatically, confirming her guess. "Odd...we'll have to ask Zhaan about how that's possible. This is your language, I presume. Can you write in Sebacean?"

John looked at her quizzically, then down at the sheet. He grasped the stylus as if preparing to write and hovered over the sheet for a long moment. She could see his hand trembling with effort, knuckles growing white as his grip tightened anxiously. Finally, he threw the stylus against the far corner, shoved the sheet away, and slumped back against the wall with a growl of incoherent frustration.

Aeryn remained still for the moment, watchful. Since he'd woken in Zhaan's apothecary three solar days earlier, John had been prone to wild and sudden mood swings, from joy to rage to despair and back again. The alien healer claimed this was to be expected; the human's mind had suffered horrendous abuse, both from the surgery and the preceding months of invasion and manipulation by Scorpius' neural chip. It would take time for John's system to heal those wounds and find its equilibrium again.

Aeryn had never been trained for anything like this. Emotional outbursts in her experience were subject to only derision and disciplinary action, neither of which was appropriate to her current situation. Cast adrift as she was from all she had ever known, Aeryn had no idea how to help, but she found herself strangely compelled to try.

She approached John like she would a wounded animal, warily, expecting him to strike out at any moment. He'd caught her by surprise the first time he lashed out in a rage, on the second day after regaining consciousness. It wasn't the strike itself that had been so bad -- she'd had worse in training exercises as a fifth-cycle cadet -- but the arns of dejected looks and apologetic noises that followed.

John flinched once when Aeryn touched his hands but did not react otherwise. One by one, she wrapped her fingers around his and pulled his hands away from his face. His eyes were clenched shut, his forehead creased in pain.

"John, calm down. Remember what Zhaan said; you can fight this. Control it." The Delvian had included Crichton in the discussions of his condition, and through a combination of Unity and verbal counseling had tried to show him how to mitigate the emotional fluctuations.

Gradually, she could see John's breathing grow deeper and more regular and his muscles start to relax. His eyes stayed closed, but he made no attempt to pull his hands away.

Aeryn frowned for a moment as she realized she was seeing this scene as if through two people's eyes. One of them, the Peacekeeper automaton, bred and trained for brutal efficiency, saw in John nothing but a pathetic, crippled, and useless figure. He was a drain on the unit's resources, a weak link, and by rights should be excised ruthlessly for the good of the whole.

But standing beside the emotionless drone she had once been was a new Aeryn Sun, one who grew stronger and more confident with each passing day. Though still a soldier to her very core, she had nevertheless been exactly in John's position just over a cycle ago, and she remembered. Remembered both the shame and helplessness when she first learned of her paralysis, and the feelings of hope and fulfillment that followed, when John had first tricked her into learning that she could still contribute, and then showed her that she could make a life outside of the Peacekeepers.

That was what she had to keep in mind, she realized. Though her childhood training left her with no clues for the current situation, she did have an example to model herself on. She could provide to John what he had once given her.

Suddenly, it was all so simple. She reached out and touched his face.

"John, look at me."

The human's bright blue eyes snapped open at the terse command. He was calmer now, no longer trembling, though his cheeks were still flushed. After a microt, he looked away, glanced back, and then away again as if unable to meet her gaze, though he never pulled away from her hand.

"We have a mission."

John blinked in surprise at that bland statement, his eyebrows rising expressively. Gently pulling one hand free of her grip, he ran a single finger under the edge of the plain black shirt she wore in place of her usual uniform. Then he looked back at her face.

"We may not be Peacekeepers anymore," she answered his unspoken question, "but that doesn't stop us from still being soldiers. Our mission is survival, and that means we work together and help each other."

Consternation and shame rushed back into John's eyes. It was amazing, Aeryn thought, how much better she had become at reading the human's face and body language just in the past few solar days. She understood exactly what he was feeling, because she had been there herself once. She ran a comforting hand down his arm.

"We make a good team, John," she pointed out. "But a team needs to be able to communicate, so that will be our primary goal. I...miss being able to talk to you."

John's expression softened, and his eyes finally locked with hers. He gently cupped her face in one hand and rubbed his thumb under her eye as if wiping away an nonexistent tear. Gradually, his face regained its former expression of determination, and he nodded his agreement.

At a loss for how to proceed, Aeryn just sat still, gazing at the man she had almost lost. Where could they begin? She didn't speak his language, so how could she help him learn to speak again? Caught in her own circling thoughts, she was surprised when John got up and moved away from her. He retrieved his flimsy and stylus from where he'd thrown them. Sitting back down, he handed them to her.

Aeryn looked from the stylus in her hand up to John's expectant face and back again. It took a few microts for the clues to fall together. "You want me...to teach you? To write Sebacean?"

He nodded, then gestured to his throat.

"You want to learn to speak it, as well?"

John nodded again.

"Then that will be our mission."

Aeryn rose to her feet and held out a hand to help John get up. He grasped her wrist without hesitation and stood, but then paused and didn't release her right away.

Aeryn looked from their clasped hands up to John's face and found him staring at her with an unusual intensity. She stood still, waiting, wondering what was going through the human's mind now.

With his free hand, John reached towards Aeryn's face slowly, tentatively, eyes alert for any sign of denial or aversion from her. Finally his fingers brushed across her cheek and his thumb grazed lightly along her lower lip. Then he paused, biting his own lip, and waited for her to decide the next move.

Aeryn understood what he was asking, needing no words to explain. Speech, in this case, would actually have hindered her; this was not a situation where rational thought or Peacekeeper training had any relevance.

She was no longer a Peacekeeper.

She was no longer bound by Peacekeeper rules, or Peacekeeper prejudices.

She could want something for herself, and take what was offered without guilt or recrimination.

Releasing John's wrist, she brought her hand up and placed it over his, pressing his warm skin against her cheek and shutting her eyes briefly at the simple pleasure of the touch.

Still moving slowly, but with more confidence, John shifted his hand around behind her head and pulled her gently towards him. She mirrored him, weaving her fingers through the short hair at the nape of John's neck and stepping into his embrace.

Their lips met, gently at first, but with ever-increasing hunger as they indulged in the most basic form of communication, free of the constraints of both custom and speech. All of their other worries faded away, and neither noticed when the DRD that had been watching from the corner of the room rolled quietly away and left them to their privacy.

* * *

Frowning in concentration, John added a short, curving line to the Sebacean symbol and waited for the response.

It had only been twenty solar days since Aeryn had agreed to teach him her language, now that he had lost his own, but already he was approaching a basic level of competency, at least with the written symbols. Speech was still a distant dream.

His discovery that the damage that had scrambled the pathways between his mind and his voice had not done the same to the connections with his hands had been a dizzying ride of giddy joy and crashing disappointment, but it had opened a door to hope he hadn't been able to find before. Soon, very soon, he'd be able to communicate freely again.

Re-learning Sebacean in written form had been far easier than either of them expected, for a number of reasons. First, he'd already learned the written language once, so while his conscious memory might have lost the information, there were still echoes, and his hands remembered the motions.

Second, he'd been immersed in the Sebacean language for almost two cycles now, and though the translator microbes had previously made it unnecessary for him to speak it, he knew the sound of it, the differences in syntax, and the odd quirks that made the language both beautiful and complex.

But most importantly, he and Aeryn had worked out a most remarkable system for learning and positive reinforcement.

Aeryn lifted her leg gracefully to get a better look. "Good," she said simply.

John smiled, more interested in watching the play of Aeryn's muscles under that smooth skin than in his own success. Her body was breathtaking to watch...and it made an excellent writing surface.

"Now try to say it," Aeryn continued, keeping her leg pointed straight into the air like a sexy sign-post, making it very difficult to concentrate. "'Gun'."

John tried to wrap his larynx around the simple Sebacean word. It probably said something about both of their cultures, he mused with dark humor, that it was one of the simplest words in either language. Easy or not, however, the mangled speech center in his brain still couldn't manage to match the sounds in his head with the sounds he was producing. On rare occasions a correct sound would emerge, provoking a surge of hope, but it would only last until the next attempts were unable to reproduce the success.

The pleasant scenery of the learning environment, however, helped keep the disappointment to a minimum.

They hadn't started out this way, of course. His first language lessons with Aeryn Sun had been the epitome of professionalism. She took her role in this 'mission' very seriously.

They had started off very innocently, using the stylus and diagnostic flimsies John had first discovered, heads bent together over the center chamber table. After the initial explosion of hormones in John's quarters, he and Aeryn had backed off and slowed down by mutual, unspoken agreement. The first few lessons contained little more than casual touches and playful kisses, which gradually grew more intense and deliberate as the days passed.

On the fifth solar day, though Aeryn tried stoically to ignore John's explorations, his wandering hands discovered that the severe, no-nonsense soldier was ticklish. She'd eventually discovered the same about him. The next few sessions had ended with both student and teacher rolling on the floor laughing like children.

Finally, one such incident had escalated into a frantic, teasing chase through Moya's corridors and culminated in a heap of tangled limbs and panting breaths in Aeryn's quarters.

An arn or so later, when the laughter had faded and clothing lay in scattered heaps across the floor, John had sat tracing his finger lazily through the beaded drops of perspiration across the bare expanse of Aeryn's back. One thing led to another, until their daily writing and speech lessons evolved -- or perhaps degenerated was the better term -- into this organized foreplay.

"What's the English word for it?" Aeryn asked out of the blue, breaking into John's pleasant reverie. He hesitated for a moment, peering quizzically at Aeryn's innocent expression, the reached across and wrote G-U-N on Aeryn's other thigh. He looked back down at her bemused face and raised a questioning eyebrow.

The Sebacean's expression grew a bit more serious. "Now try saying it again, in your language this time."

John opened his mouth as if to argue, then shut it again with a frustrated click and looked away. He'd had no more luck saying things in English than he had in Sebacean, and it wasn't like she'd be able to tell if he was saying it right anyway.

"Gun."

John whirled around in shock and confusion. Aeryn had just said that in near-perfect English! How the hell...?

Aeryn gave him a broad grin, clearly pleased by her success. "Pilot found some recordings of transmissions you made on the mission to the Royal Planet," she explained. "I listened to them earlier, and he helped me break them down into individual words."

John gazed at Aeryn, for once completely oblivious to her mostly-unclothed state. The existence of recordings of his own voice speaking English was sparking a number of ideas in his head, but he pushed them aside for later. Taking up his stylus again, he drew another simple Sebacean word on Aeryn's leg.

_Why?_

"If you are going to learn my language, then the least I can do is try to learn yours," Aeryn replied in a bland, expressionless voice that made John wonder what other reasons she was hiding, and why she didn't want to talk about them. Unfortunately, while his vocabulary was now sufficient for basic conversation and questions, it wasn't quite up to a full verbal sparring match with the iron-willed Aeryn Sun.

For now, he decided, he'd just have to be grateful for the effort. Those hidden motivations could wait for another day.

* * *

Aeryn rested her arms against the dais surrounding Pilot's consoles and watched with placid fascination the strange interplay taking place around her.

For the past two monens, John had spent every spare arn holed up in the maintenance bay, working on something he refused to tell her about until today, when he'd issued her a written invitation (in both English and Sebacean) to join him for the first test run of whatever it was.

John was now seated on the edge of Pilot's console, a small, flattened tablet resting in his lap and connected through wires to something on the deck that appeared to have started life as a DRD. While the basic shape was still there, along with a single glowing eye-stalk, most of the yellow carapace had been cut away to make room for a tangle of grafted-on parts and data crystals. John looked unbearably pleased with himself as he made some final adjustments to the unwieldy contraption.

Aeryn sighed in resignation. For all that John had become a decent soldier over the past two cycles, blooded in battle and decorated by High Command, he was still, at heart, a tech, and far more comfortable with a tool in his hands than with a gun.

John pressed several buttons on the tablet in front of him, frowning in concentration, then looked up at Aeryn and winked as he hit one final key.

_::Hello, Aeryn. Hello, Pilot.::_ A toneless, mechanical voice, resembling John's, sounded from the DRD on the floor, speaking in understandable English.

Aeryn's jaw dropped in amazement. "What...how?"

John grinned and tapped keys at a rapid clip. After about a dozen microts, the voice spoke again. _::Pilot help. Use my voice. Speak words by typing. Now I speak again.:: _The jubilant human grimaced ruefully at the poor sentence structure. _::Few words yet,::_ he explained through the machine.

"Moya and I were pleased to be of assistance, Officer Crichton," Pilot interjected, his arms not pausing in their constant movements.

The large door across the chasm from Pilot's console swung open, admitting the ship's remaining resident.

"Zhaan!" Aeryn called out in greeting.

The Delvian strode across the bridge in her usual graceful, gliding gait. "Pilot tells me you have news to share."

_::Hello, Zhaan.::_

The blue woman whirled around at the unexpected voice, taking an uncharacteristically defensive stance. Upon seeing John's elated grin, she quickly relaxed and stepped forward. "Was that you, John?"

The human nodded and tapped out a new message. _::Part me, part Moya.::_

Aeryn watched as Zhaan took in the much-modified DRD and the keypad in John's lap. "You built this? John, this is amazing." She reached up and squeezed the human's knee.

John was practically bouncing in his seat at the sheer joy of being able to be part of the conversation again. _::Still working. Need more words. Good to see you, Zhaan. Have not seen you in many days.:: _

The Delvian smiled coyly, glancing over at Aeryn. "I did not wish to intrude. You seemed...well occupied, as it was."

Aeryn blinked at the priestess' teasing tone and wry look, while John coughed and flushed bright red.

The babble of conversation continued for nearly an arn, with John as a full participant for the first time in monens.

Finally, as the discussion died down, Pilot spoke up once more. "While you are all here, Moya and I have a question we wish to pose to you."

_::What wrong, Pilot.::_ Though the machine was incapable of the tonal upswing that marked a question, everyone understood.

"Nothing is wrong, Officer Crichton, we are merely curious about your plans."

"Plans?" Aeryn echoed, confused.

"Surely you do not intend to remain hidden in a Peacekeeper convoy forever."

The three passengers shared a startled look. Zhaan and Aeryn were soon deeply involved in a tactical discussion of how best to escape the convoy and evade capture, while John looked on.

Finally, after several dozen microts of overlapping argument, John typed some more words into his new invention. _::Pilot.:: _There was a pause, as both Zhaan and Aeryn stopped talking mid-sentence to turn towards the new voice. _::We should ask, what you and Moya want.::_

Aeryn snapped her mouth shut as John's words subtly pointed out how far she still had to go in her quest to overcome Peacekeeper prejudices. She had not even thought to ask Pilot his opinion, or that of the ship who had so generously offered them sanctuary.

Pilot, for his part, looked startled at the question. He looked down at the consoles in front of him, clearly hiding his discomfort under a pretense of concentration.

"I would be pleased to help you leave Peacekeeper control," Pilot finally said without looking up. "I did, after all, assist with Moya's first escape, and my reasons have not altered. Moya, however, is...hesitant."

"Why, Pilot?" Zhaan asked, concerned. Aeryn knew that Moya, and by extension, her symbiont, were Zhaan's primary concerns.

The great, four-armed being did not meet any of their eyes. "Moya does not remember her reasons for wishing to escape," he pointed out. "She does not remember Peacekeeper cruelty. All she knows is that she was free, and she was hurt. And now the Peacekeepers have been taking care of her."

_::So....::_ There was a pause while John's hands hovered motionless over the keys. _::Moya not want to leave.::_

"I have explained the situation to her as best I can. She believes me, she says, but I can still sense her fear. Before, she feared the Peacekeepers more than the uncertainty of freedom. Now...." Pilot's voice trailed away.

Aeryn wanted to argue with him, wanted to berate the Leviathan for stranding them here with her cowardice. Before she could speak, however, John's long-absent voice of reason spoke to them all.

_::Understand, Pilot. Moya stay for same reason I once stay. No other place to go. Trade safety for freedom. Bad trade, but only one possible then.:: _

Pilot nodded. "Moya thanks you for your understanding, Officer Crichton. And yet, now you are wishing to leave?"

_::Different now. No more safety. Death or freedom. Only options left for me.::_

Aeryn nodded her understanding, both of John's eloquent explanation and the Leviathan's predicament. She, too, had made the safe choice once--more than once--and compromised her own conscience in the process. It would be hypocritical to chastise the young, confused Leviathan for making the same choices.

She met John's eyes and nodded at the message she read there. "We will respect Moya's wishes, Pilot. If we do decide at some point that we need to leave, we will find another way if Moya chooses not to accompany us."

Pilot nodded a quiet acknowledgment and reverted back to his more typical aspect of quiet concentration on his task.

* * *

The room they sat in was quiet, insulated. The floor was smooth, the walls black and crystalline, their surface jagged and irregular like rock candy. A three-pronged structure occupied the center of the floor, blinking and glittering with its own internal light. It wasn't the most comfortable resting place they could have chosen, but it was safe.

Peacekeepers had come aboard.

They weren't searching for fugitives -- as far as Aeryn could tell, both she and John were presumed dead. This was just a checkup for Moya by Lt. Larell and her crew of techs. According to Pilot, they rarely ventured beyond his den and the neural cluster during these visits. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry, so John and Aeryn were hiding in the starburst chamber until they left. There was no reason for anyone to wander this far afield.

John made some small adjustments to the glorified Speak 'n Spell he'd built. The main processing unit, built into the basic structure of a damaged DRD, now sported a platform to carry the keyboard, so John could have it follow him around without needing to carry anything. He had also spent the past two weekens attempting to expand the machine's vocabulary. That endeavor, however, had been frustrated at nearly every turn by the sheer illogic of the English language, something John had joked about in the past but was only now beginning to truly appreciate.

In mild frustration, John tapped his fingers against the yellow painted shell of the DRD, as if rebuking the machine for its limitations.

"John," Aeryn interrupted quietly from across the room. "Is something wrong?"

John dialed down the volume on the speaker before replying; Pilot claimed the starburst chamber was sound-proof, but he figured they'd both be more comfortable keeping their voices down anyway. _::Machine insists on following rules. English does not follow any rules.::_

Aeryn snorted. "I've noticed," she grumbled. She now spoke English almost as well as the DRD, but was not immune to the same frustration that John was dealing with. "I've been meaning to ask you, how did you come up with the idea for that contraption?"

John smiled as his mind flashed back years to a memory he fortunately had not lost in the surgery: a graduate-level lecture he had attended at MIT, given by one of Earth's greatest minds in cosmic theory. _::Knew of a man on Earth,::_ he tried to explain. _::Great mind, but crippled by sickness until body could not move. Could not speak or write. Others, wanting to help, made a machine to speak for him. After, he could teach again. Wrote books.::_

Stephen Hawking had been one of John's greatest inspirations, back when he was a student. He wished he had the man here now; between the two of them, he figured they'd have wormhole theory licked in a month.

Aeryn's head shot up, listening, and John stilled his hands. He didn't hear anything, but her ears were better than his.

Less than five microts later, she was gesturing urgently for John to hide and sliding the chakan oil cartridge back into the butt of her pistol with a practiced. She didn't have to ask twice -- he ducked into one of the large, round side-chambers, pulling the DRD with him out of sight of the hatch.

There was a hum and a scrape of metal from the entrance -- a door that only the ship herself could open, they'd been told -- then silence for a moment. John held his breath. Across the room, he could see Aeryn. She crouched half-hidden in the opposite alcove, with one arm and one eye peeking out, pointing her weapon at the hatchway.

"Officer Sun?" a voice queried hesitantly.

Aeryn's gun remained steady. "Identify yourself," she ordered.

"Tal Shekar, sir. Pi J'hesta sent me. The Pilot told me where to find you."

John breathed again. This was their contact. Aeryn had told him about their escape from the carrier, about the help she'd received from J'hesta and the other techs, and about their promise to keep her informed when possible.

A cycle ago, John might have jumped out in welcome, but he was no longer that naive. Pilot had trusted this tech, and Moya had opened the door for him, but Aeryn would be the final judge. The risks were too great for them to trust easily.

After several long microts of code-word exchanges, however, Aeryn nodded at John and they all came out into the main chamber.

The young tech, a man John had not seen before, reacted with wide eyes to the sight of the human. "I had not expected to see you so healthy, Officer Crichton," he said by way of explanation. "Your condition upon leaving the carrier was reported as quite grave."

John shrugged, then looked at Aeryn silently.

"His speech is impaired, but he has otherwise recovered."

"Pi will be pleased to hear that. Good news is a rare commodity these days."

Aeryn frowned. "Has something happened?"

Shekar sighed. "We arrived at the central station facility four monens ago," he began. Both Aeryn and John nodded; Pilot had informed them at the time. "Repairs are progressing, but it will still be several monens before the carrier is ready to deploy again. Three days ago, a message came from First Command. Captain Crais has been promoted to command of a carrier group on the Scarran frontier. Lt. Teeg is going with him."

John snorted. Crais had gotten what he always wanted. Tauvo would have been happy for him, but John just couldn't bring himself to care.

"Has anyone been assigned to command here? Surely not Braca...."

Shekar looked at the deck. "Scorpius has been given interim command, with Lt. Braca as his second. It was Captain Crais' recommendation. 'For the duration of the repairs', the orders said, but many of us believe that Scorpius will make sure the assignment is permanent."

John rolled his eyes. _Sure, give the sadistic maniac the keys to the car, see what happens._

"Almost since the moment you left," the tech continued, oblivious to John's silent grumbling, "Scorpius has been working with the wormhole technology he stole from you. He has been building a project, assisted by another of the officers we rescued, a Lieutenant Xhorel. Crais assigned a number of techs to assist them."

John blinked, vaguely remembering the nervous man he'd served under during his short time as a tech on that base. Xhorel had not impressed him much.

"Shekar," Aeryn broke in sternly. "You could have left this information on a data chip--"

"No, you don't understand!" The tech grew more agitated. "J'hesta insisted that I tell you in person. It's important that you hear it all, and quickly."

"Hear what, Tech? This all sounds like shipboard gossip to me." Aeryn was growing impatient.

Tal Shekar turned away from Aeryn to address John directly. "Officer Crichton, you need to understand. Scorpius has been working with the neural chip for monens now, but something is wrong. The data he needs is encrypted somehow, and he cannot decipher it. So far, three of us have died due to his anger and frustration."

John grabbed his keyboard and tapped out a quick message. _::My sympathy for your loss.::_

Shekar reached out to still John's hand before he could say more. "Thank you, but that is not the part that you need to worry about. Just before we left the carrier for Moya, I received word: Scorpius has ordered your body retrieved from cryo-storage. I suppose he plans to dissect your brain or something, searching for the key to that encrypted section."

John looked over at Aeryn, and saw his own sudden realization mirrored on her face.

"When he discovers your body isn't there--" the tech began, his voice quavering with anxiety.

"--he will grow suspicious, and begin searching," Aeryn finished for him.

At that moment, keyboard forgotten, John managed a feat that had eluded him for monens.

He spoke a single word.

"Frell!"


	17. The Devil You Know

**Episode 16 - The Devil You Know**

_"I've already lost people I care about because of you." - John Crichton  
_

Aeryn watched Tech Shekar slip out the narrow doorway and into the dark corridor outside the starburst chamber, heading back for the Leviathan team before he was missed. Her mind raced, forming and discarding plan after plan for their escape. It had been so long without any hint of suspicion or action in their direction that she feared she had grown complacent, assuming they had all the time in the universe to plan their next actions.

And now, all that time had vanished. Scorpius would soon conclude, if he had not already, that she and John were neither dead nor aboard the carrier. Given Scorpius' position and reputation for cruelty, he would then discover their location through either intimidation or torture not long thereafter. She and Crichton had days, at best -- possibly only arns -- to make their escape.

She glanced over at John, who had returned to his seat in one of the alcoves at some point during the conversation, then did a double take. She'd expected to see panic in the human's eyes, or fear--the principal emotions that had lurked under the surface for so many monens due to that Scarran half-breed, and which had ruled him completely in those last few solar days before Scorpius finally captured him with her unwitting assistance.

Instead, John was sitting calmly, making small adjustments to his DRD voice synthesizer. She watched him for several hundred microts, but saw no hint of apprehension or nervousness. "John?" she queried at last.

"Hmm?" he replied absently, not looking up. Aside from the single coherent expletive he'd managed earlier, John's speech had not really progressed far; simple sounds such as this, with inflections implying positive, negative or interrogative responses, were all he could consistently produce without the DRD's assistance.

"We need to come up with a plan to escape; Scorpius will be looking for us." The human's composure baffled her; had he forgotten that part of the tech's report?

John finally looked up at Aeryn, raising an eyebrow in an expression that seemed to doubt her intelligence. He spent a few microts typing a response into the synthesizer. _::Let me know if you come up with something. I cannot think of a single thing that will work.::_

Aeryn opened and closed her mouth a few times without a sound emerging. This was just too strange. She was the experienced Peacekeeper here; she should be the calm and rational one, not the neophyte sitting across from her who had lost his voice and nearly his sanity to the monster pursuing them. "How can you be so calm?" she finally asked.

John shrugged as he typed. _::He doesn't scare me anymore.::_

"Well, he sure as frell scares me," Aeryn muttered under her breath. Thanks to the utter silence of the starburst chamber, even John's inferior hearing managed to pick up her words.

Before he could start typing a response, however, the door to the corridor slid open again, admitting their Delvian ship-mate. "Pilot asked me to relay to you that the Peacekeeper contingent has departed for the carrier; you can come out again."

Crichton nodded, gathered up his DRD companion and left without a word or a glance to either woman.

Aeryn watched him go, and Zhaan watched Aeryn. "Is there a problem, Officer Sun?" she finally asked.

Aeryn sighed, crossing her arms and glaring down at the toes of her boots. "I wish I knew. A tech came down and told us that Scorpius may be close to discovering that John is alive. It is only a short trip from there to him finding us. Half a cycle ago, that news would have had John in a panic. Now...well, you saw him. He doesn't seem to care."

The Delvian gazed thoughtfully out the door at the now-empty corridor. "John was gravely wounded by his experiences. Not only physically, but emotionally, psychologically. He is healing, slowly, but you cannot expect that he will ever be the same as he was. There still resides within him the man we found on the floor of my apothecary, with a crystal shard held ready to spill his own lifeblood."

Aeryn's eyes shot up to meet Zhaan's. "Are you saying he's still suicidal?"

The Delvian shook her head, reaching out to calm the former Peacekeeper. "No, and that is largely thanks to you, my dear. Your love for him, and his for you, is what pulled him back from that brink. No, John no longer seeks death, or wishes for it. But he has seen it, faced it, accepted it. Death no longer holds any terror for John Crichton."

* * *

In the dark hours of the late ship's night, John Crichton leaned against the edge of the doorway to his quarters, watching Aeryn sleep. He'd spent most of the day after hearing the tech's news wandering through Moya's corridors, deep in thought. Aeryn had made a half-hearted effort to get him to talk when he finally returned for last meal, but she didn't really know how to ask the right questions.

In the pale light from the hallway, Aeryn's hair glistened against the pillow like black satin, and the stirring in John's chest intensified. Two and a half cycles had passed since that day he'd dropped through the wormhole and into this frelled-up side of the universe, and nothing had gone right since. Every time he found something good, started to be happy, fate would come along and kick him in the teeth. The first time, it had cost him Gilina, and the baby. And now, after he'd finally gotten past the grief and started to love someone again, fate seemed determined to rip her away from him as well.

Well, he wouldn't allow it. If Scorpius showed up, John Crichton was screwed, no way around that. But there was still a small chance that the bastard might not know about Aeryn. She had been just one Peacekeeper soldier amongst thousands to the Scarran half-breed, and he'd seen her declared dead before his own eyes; there was no reason for him to be interested in her. If John could keep her away, keep her existence hidden until it was over, Aeryn Sun might just be able to get away and make a life for herself. Might as well make it count for something.

"Officer Crichton?" Pilot's voice spoke through his comms at that moment. John glanced at the sleeping form inside, noting that the sound had not woken her, then stepped away down the corridor. Once out of easy ear-shot, he double-tapped his comms to let Pilot to know he was listening.

"A Peacekeeper Marauder just entered scanning range. It will pass quite near Moya, but is not approaching directly. I thought you might want to know, however."

Crichton grabbed up the DRD that always followed at his heels and broke into a run for the den. It could just be a coincidence -- Marauders had been seen departing or returning to the carrier on occasion in the past several monens -- but given the news from earlier, John wasn't counting on it.

When he reached Pilot's chamber the door was open; he was expected. John flew across the narrow bridge without breaking stride, set the DRD on the console and vaulted over it to land next to the giant symbiot. Pilot knew him well, it seemed, and already had the display primed to show the approaching ship, now less than a metra away. John looked at the bug-like vessel, judged its course and speed...and suddenly, like a premonition of disaster, he knew. _::Pilot,::_ he typed quickly, _::is Aeryn still in our quarters?::_

"She appears to still be asleep, yes. Why do you ask?"

_::I need to ask you a favor. Please close the door to those quarters and lock it. Scorpius is coming, and I do not want her involved.::_

"You believe that ship is coming here? That Scorpius is aboard?"

John nodded. _::It's like I can sense the bastard. He's here for me, though, not for Aeryn. He doesn't even have to know she's here.::_

Pilot paused, perhaps hesitant to take such action against a member of his own crew, even at the request of another. Then his head jerked up and one of his large claws reached out to toggle a control. The comms speakers flared to life, and a hated voice echoed through the cavernous chamber. "Attention Leviathan, this is Scorpius. I know that John Crichton is aboard. Do not attempt to escape; we are coming aboard to take custody of the human."

John felt his innards freeze and twist. Knowing it was Scorpius was one thing, but actually hearing that voice for the first time in half a cycle was something quite different. _::Please, Pilot,::_ he begged. _::Help me keep Aeryn safe. You heard him; he's here for me, not her.::_

Pilot's eyes met his for a long moment, and then he nodded. "Very well, John." Another claw reached over to tap a series of buttons. "Officer Sun is confined to your quarters. Will you be meeting the Marauder in the hangar bay?"

John nodded, reaching forward to lever himself up and out of Pilot's work space. Before he could jump, though, he was nearly knocked off his feet. Moya shuddered, the dull, distant sounds of explosions ringing through the chamber. His DRD slid off and clattered to the deck, dragging the keyboard with it, and Pilot screamed in anger and pain.

As John reached out to comfort the suffering creature, desperation once again overcame his disability. "Wha' happen?" he blurted out in slurred but understandable English.

Pilot panted for a moment, fighting the pain coursing through the ship he was so intimately linked to. "They fired on Moya! She did nothing!"

Crichton growled incoherently, his speech abandoning him once again, and vaulted over the console in one determined leap. He reached for the pistol that rode on his leg -- he had only recently convinced everyone that he could be trusted to carry it again -- and tested the chakan oil charge with his tongue. Eyes blazing with rage, he slammed the cartridge back into the butt of the gun and reholstered it. It didn't take Pilot's keen ability to read nonverbal cues to know that Scorpius was going to pay for this. Nodding once to the symbiot, John marched out toward the corridor, not really caring if his DRD translator followed. He heard Aeryn calling to him through the comms; impatiently, he tore the small badge off of his shirt and tossed it down into the depths of the central nexus.

A hundred microts ago, he'd been prepared to give himself up to Scorpius, to trade his freedom in order to save Aeryn. That plan had changed, now. As he passed through the open door, he could hear her calling to Pilot, asking what was happening and why her door was locked. Striding toward the hangar bays, John pulled his pistol from its holster once again and started fiddling with the power selector.

* * *

A violent jolt and groan startled Aeryn out of a sound sleep, and she just managed to catch herself before she was thrown from the bunk. She staggered to her feet, battle reflexes kicking in almost instantly, and reached for her weapon belt.

"John?" she called out, looking around the darkened room. There was no response. Had he been in the 'fresher and been knocked out when Moya shook? _Hezmana, like the human's head needs more abuse..._

A brief search, however, found no sign of him. Tapping her comms, she tried once again to reach him but received no reply, not even his double-tap shorthand. Part of her surged with worry, but her training won out in this instance. There was an emergency, the ship was under attack, and it appeared that it was up to Aeryn to deal with it. John would have to wait.

Long strides brought her to the cell door. She waved her hand over the controls.

Nothing. She tried again, with the same result.

She tapped the comms again, frustrated. "Pilot, the door to my quarters is jammed. What is the situation?"

There was a long silence. Aeryn wondered if the comms were completely out, but then Pilot's hesitant voice emerged. "My...apologies, Officer Sun. I will...send a DRD to investigate the problem as soon as possible."

Aeryn blinked. That had been uncharacteristically evasive, and Pilot's voice sounded far more worried than his words would suggest. "What's going on, Pilot? It felt like Moya was fired on!"

"The situation is...under control."

"Under control? Pilot, Scorpius is probably boarding as we speak! John may be injured; he's not responding to the comms. How can you say things are 'under control'?"

"Officer Crichton is unharmed. He is dealing with the situation."

Aeryn blinked. When the bland statement finally registered, she wanted to reach through the comms and strangle the infuriating Pilot. For an instant she imagined that she'd liked these creatures better when she'd still been under the delusion that they were nothing but mindless servicers. She took a deep breath, attempting to calm herself. This wasn't helping.

"Pilot," she said calmly, her voice steady and hard, "tell me what the frell is going on or I will blast this door open and come up there to ask you again at gunpoint."

The silence this time was, if anything, even longer than the first. Finally, Pilot's conflicted resolve crumbled. "Scorpius sent a message. He is coming aboard to retrieve Officer Crichton. However, the message made no mention of you, Officer Sun, so Crichton hopes Scorpius is ignorant of your presence. He asked me to help him maintain that ignorance by keeping you away from the confrontation."

"He's going to give himself up, isn't he? Frelling stubborn idiot...."

"I believe that was his original intent, Officer Sun, but then the Peacekeeper ship fired on Moya. I do not believe surrender is on his mind anymore."

Emotion surged, a potent blend of anger, fear, love, and sheer unadulterated rage. "Pilot, let me out of here this instant!"

There was no answer.

If the Peacekeepers had taught Aeryn only one useful thing, it was to recognize a hopeless battle. Pilot's attachment to John was far greater than it was to her, and it would take far more persuasive ability than she possessed to convince him to violate John's wishes. Time to plot a new course.

If a mere Hynerian could escape from one of these cells, so could she.

* * *

John sat casually on top of a cargo container near the wall opposite the bay doors, his keyboard beside him. His pose was one of artful nonchalance as he waited for the doors to open, the illusion marred only by the constant tapping of his fingers against his leg. He held the pistol cradled carefully in his other hand, its light blinking ominously.

In what passed for quiet inside a living ship, John could hear the muffled sounds of the Marauder touching down on Moya's deck, and of atmosphere being pumped back into the huge landing bay. Then there was a long space of dead silence.

That would be the Marauder team's influence, John decided. If they weren't with him, John imagined Scorpius would simply stride brazenly through the doors, all arrogance and hubris. The commandos, he knew, were better trained than that, and would be prepared for resistance even here. What he was counting on, however, was that Scorpius wanted to take him alive. That would give John a small advantage. Very small, though; he had few illusions about the skills of these soldiers. Aeryn had been one of them, after all, and even after months of training with her, she could still whip his ass without breaking a sweat.

Finally, after nearly a hundred microts, the bay doors ground their way open. The large three-legged ship could be seen crouching a dozen motras beyond, but at first there was no sign of anyone on the ground. John wasn't fooled.

At some unseen signal, two commandos slid quickly and silently around each side of the doorway, their weapons scanning the room. They both saw him at the same instant and brought their rifles to bear on him; it was like watching two mirror images, their movements were so precise and synchronized.

The one on the left gave a hand signal to someone out of sight behind him; John knew the code, thanks to Aeryn, and knew the soldier was simply reporting the presence of one armed hostile. There was a whispered command, too low to be understandable, but the meaning was soon apparent as the soldier started to raise his rifle. John realized they were probably going to try to wound him, to disable any resistance.

"Ah-ah," he called out warningly, waving his pistol so that the soldier could see the indicators. To the untrained eye, the only thing to see was a blinking light, but these eyes were anything but untrained.

The standard Peacekeeper pulse weapon was a simple device, with only three basic controls. Like any modern Earth weapon, it had both a safety and a trigger; the third control was a power selector. The lowest setting conserved the chakan oil, and even that minimal power was enough to put down an unarmored opponent of a race similar to Sebacean. It allowed for single shots, with a pause of about half a microt to recharge before the next shot. The pulse rifles had a middle power setting for targets with battle armor, with a similar shot rate.

The highest power setting on a pulse weapon was the dangerous one, for both the owner and the target. Chakan oil was fed constantly into the pulse chamber, which allowed for rapid fire as fast as the trigger could be depressed, or slower fire at very high power. But the constant feed of oil also meant that if the weapon were not fired, the pressure would build into an overload in the pulse chamber and cause the weapon to explode.

John had used this feature to his own benefit once before, against the Scarran agent who captured him back on the commerce planet nearly a cycle before. What he was showing the Peacekeeper commando now was that he was holding this pistol just shy of an overload, maintaining a slight pressure on the trigger to bleed off the excess. As John expected, the Peacekeeper could see all this at a glance, and knew that John had jerry-rigged the equivalent of a dead-man switch. If he lost his grip on the pistol, it would explode almost immediately.

Under most circumstances, the Peacekeepers would not care a whit if their target chose to blow himself up. But Scorpius, John was sure, would have something to say about it.

Sure enough, the soldier subsided, and for a few microts he made no further movements. _Probably trying to figure out how to say "the target is insane; requesting instructions" in Peacekeeper battle sign._ John smiled. He turned and started tapping keys on his trusty DRD speak 'n spell, giving the commandos a quelling look when they started to raise their weapons in alarm.

_::Hey, Scorpius, come out and say hello.::_ The mechanical voice made both commandos blink in surprise, but it did its job. The figure of his nightmares, still clad head to toe in shiny black leather, stepped into view. The soldier nearest him whispered something, gesturing toward John's blinking pistol, and the Scarran half-breed frowned.

"Crichton," he growled. "Stop this foolishness. Do you truly believe you can escape?"

John typed some more, which was harder than usual since he could only use one hand and had to keep half an eye on the opposition at the same time. _::Good to see you too, Scorpy. Miss me?::_ He deliberately ignored the question.

There was a low rumble, very Scarran in timbre, as Scorpius fought his temper. He tried a more conciliatory approach, though the anger still lurked in his voice. "Crichton, be reasonable. Put the weapon down and come with us."

Now it was John's turn to growl, and his typing grew a bit more violent. _::Give me one good reason, you bastard. You've taken everything from me already, my place, my voice, the woman I loved.::_ John knew he was referring to Gilina, but hoped Scorpius would think it was Aeryn he was talking about. _::Seems only right that I should take something from you, and the crap in my head seems to be the only thing you care about. It might be worth it just to see the look on your face. I certainly have nothing left to lose, and I'm not going back to your damn chair.::_

"John." The voice now turned almost condescending, as if Scorpius were talking to a brain-damaged child. "I have no plans to use the Aurora chair again. It has already proved itself unequal to the task of retrieving the information I require. The neural chip was more successful, but there are still gaps in the knowledge which I believe you can help us bridge."

_::Why the hell would I help you? You've done nothing but torture and mind-rape me since we met. But that wasn't enough, was it? No, you had to add another crime to your list by attacking an innocent creature and seriously wounding her. Moya did nothing to you!::_

Scorpius just looked blank, as if he had no idea what John was talking about.

_::The Leviathan, you moron!::_ John truly regretted the DRD's inability to provide the proper derisive inflection to that statement. _::She has no weapons, nothing to threaten you. She can't even starburst! So why the hell did you feel the need to fire on her?::_

The half-breed finally seemed to understand what John was referring to. "This vessel has no control collar; I was merely ensuring that it did not attempt to escape." He said it casually, like it should have been obvious to anyone.

_::What, you think if Moya had any desire to leave that she'd still be here? You think I haven't tried to get her to leave? She's been without a collar for over two cycles. She likes it here, God knows why, though you may have changed her mind about that now.::_

Scorpius looked torn between burning anger and complete bafflement, which made John wonder how long it had been since anyone had told the half-breed 'no'. The fact that this half-alien interloper was now in command of one of the Peacekeepers' largest ships said a great deal about his influence and talent for intimidation. If even Peacekeeper First Command feared to tell Scorpius he couldn't do something, then what chance did the poor soldiers who served under him have?

After a few moments of contemplation, Scorpius finally took a slow step toward John. "Crichton, let us talk about this."

John almost smiled. _That's right, Scorpy,_ he thought, _come a little closer. Let's find out if I can stuff this pistol as far down your throat as I did that other Scarran who thought he could torture information out of me._ Rather than say this aloud, however, he simply raised an ironic eyebrow and gave a verbal demonstration of why he was using the DRD. After monens of practice, he could sometimes get maybe one word in ten to sound vaguely like what he wanted to say, but his version of "Bring it on, Lizard Breath!" still sounded like gibberish.

Scorpius attempted something that might have been a sympathetic expression, but in reality looked more like a sad scowl. "I do recall the med techs saying that the chip was near your brain's speech center; I see they were correct. If you come with us, I know of a place where we might be able to repair that damage; after all, I need you fully capable if you are to assist with the wormhole research."

An arn ago, that offer might have been tempting: to get both his voice back and a chance to finally unravel the mysteries of wormholes, at the price of having to work with this creature he despised. It might have been worth it. But right at this moment, John's anger was still running high at Scorpius' deliberate cruelty to the gentle creature who had taken him in, and he was in no mood to make any deals.

Scorpius continued to tempt and cajole, all the while taking step after unobtrusive step closer to his quarry. John saw what he was trying to do, and let him; after all, he was more than happy for the chance to take out his nemesis. The universe would be a better place without Scorpius' machinations.

Suddenly, in the midst of this quiet cat-and-mouse game, there was the sound of weapons fire, and a bright red pulse shot flew down from near the ceiling and crossed in front of John's face, nearly grazing his shoulder as it passed. After that, things happened quickly.

John heard a grunt of pain, and turned to see that the shot hadn't been aimed at him at all; one of the commandos had somehow managed to sneak around the bay and had been coming up behind him. He turned back just in time to see a dark-haired figure drop to the deck from one of the upper ventilation ducts, roll with the impact, and come up firing, sending the other commandos scrambling for cover. _How the hell did she get out of our quarters?_

That tiny instant of distraction, however, was all Scorpius needed. In a blur, he crossed the remaining space between himself and the human; a sharp blow sent the overloading pulse pistol flying out of John's hands. The weapon exploded before it ever hit the floor, and the concussion sent both John and Scorpius sprawling. John felt something strike the side of his head. Reaching up, he found a shard of burning shrapnel buried in the side of his face, having missed his left eye by less than an inch; he could hear the sizzle as his blood ran across the hot metal. Then the pain hit, and he couldn't help but cry out as the world went gray.

When light and color rushed back into John's awareness, it seemed no more than a few microts had passed. Aeryn was still exchanging fire with the commandos from behind one of the storage containers, and John himself was now pinned to the wall by a leather-bound hand at his throat. Hot, fetid breath hit his face as Scorpius hissed, "Not so confident now, are you Crichton?"

John didn't have enough air available to even attempt to speak, and so had to watch helplessly as the commandos, by dint of sheer numbers, finally overwhelmed and captured Aeryn. When they dragged her over and threw her at Scorpius' feet, John could see that she had minor pulse burns on her shoulder and hip, but was not seriously injured. The commandos, lacking any other instructions, seemed to have applied the same rules of live capture to Aeryn as they had for John.

Slowly, painfully, the former Officer Sun managed to struggle to her knees and look up at Scorpius with a defiant expression. The Scarran half-breed, for his own part, simply studied her for a long dozen microts, probably trying to remember where he'd seen her before. Finally he nodded. "Officer Aeryn Sun, I presume? I seem to recall you being reported dead."

Aeryn just raised an ironic eyebrow, declining to speak.

"No matter," Scorpius continued dismissively. "A small oversight, but the report will be accurate again soon enough."

John Crichton gasped, his shock at the casual pronouncement nearly dislodging his precarious hold on consciousness. "N-n-no!" he managed to exclaim in a strangled voice, struggling desperately against the iron grip.

His captor turned back to him, tilting his head to one side in frank curiosity. "So, Crichton, you _can_ speak, after all. You have something to say regarding this traitor?"

Not once in the past six monens of effort had John managed to string together more than two coherent words. But the need had never before been so great, either.

"L-l-l-leave...al-al-alone. I...I...w-w-work. Hu...hu...hurt...her, g-g-g-get nu...na...noth...nothing!" John gasped for breath, the effort to speak just those eight words having winded him more than running the length of Moya.

Scorpius seemed honestly puzzled at first, looking back and forth between John and Aeryn. "Are you..." he finally asked disbelievingly. "Are you offering your services in exchange for this...this renegade?"

John nodded, unable to form any more words.

Scorpius stared at him, looking disgusted, then dragged him over to the cargo container where his DRD still perched, still gripping John tightly around the neck. "Clarify," he ordered, indicating the keyboard.

John pulled the device closer and started to type desperately. _::Leave Aeryn alone -- either let her go, or reinstate her commission at her previous rank, whichever she chooses -- and I will work on your damn project. If you hurt her, you get nothing from me.::_ His earlier anger was gone, washed away in the fear for Aeryn's life. He would make any deal he had to, with the devil himself if necessary.

"You want me to let this deserter escape without penalty? Or worse, allow her back into the Peacekeeper ranks to spread her heresy?" Scorpius' grip on John's neck loosened slightly.

John turned to Aeryn and got her attention. "Wh-wh-which?" he managed to ask without any mechanical assistance.

Aeryn was looking at him like he was nuts, but simply replied, "I go where you go."

John nodded. _::Reinstate her, then. No mark on her record, rank and assignment unchanged. Make up a story,::_ John suggested. _::Tell them she's been on a top secret assignment, or something. That would work for both of us, actually; you will need to explain my return to the crew, too. Last they heard of me, I was arrested for attempted desertion.::_

The half-breed officer seemed to pause and actually think about what John was telling him. Crichton could almost see the gears turning behind the cold, blue eyes. Then Scorpius seemed to shake himself and frowned. "No, Crichton. You are in no position to bargain. Officer Sun will suffer the punishment she deserves, and you will assist with the wormhole project or suffer the consequences."

John's reply was swift and eloquent. He spit in Scorpius**'** face.

The commandos, to a man, moved toward Crichton, no doubt ready to exact proper retribution for the disrespect. Scorpius raised a single hand in a quelling gesture and they subsided. John almost thought he could see a ghost of a smile on one or two of their faces, as if they found something amusing in the situation.

There was a deep rumble of a Scarran growl, but then Scorpius simply asked, "What was that for, Crichton?" The grip on his throat tightened just slightly.

John fought down his growing fear as he typed. _::Get used to it. You hurt Aeryn and that's all you'll ever get from me. I will destroy you, or force you to destroy me. Either way, you lose; no wormholes for Scorpy.::_

"I can be most persuasive, Crichton--"

John barked a derisive laugh at that. _::I've survived your 'persuasion' twice before, Scorpy. Push me too far, and you might just scramble my brain so that even your fancy doctors can't put me back together. I'm damaged goods already, aren't I? Much more, and you won't have anything left to interrogate. You need my willing cooperation, and you can have it. All you have to do is let Aeryn Sun resume her post and leave her alone.::_

Scorpius grimaced in disgust at the concept, giving the dark-haired pilot an appraising glare. Aeryn, for her part, simply stared right back at him as she rose to her feet. She came to attention and settled into a formal parade rest stance, the mantle of her former life settling back onto her shoulders with ease. Her eyes held neither challenge nor submission.

It was the right thing to do. Scorpius looked her up and down once more, then nodded, finally releasing John to stand on his own. "Agreed. Officer Sun's record will be modified to indicate a high-security assignment for the past six monens. The repairs to the Command Carrier will be complete in ten solar days, at which point we will depart for the Uncharted Territories, where I will arrange for your speech to be restored, Crichton. After that, we will set to work perfecting the science of wormholes." Scorpius' eyes met John's, boring into his skull like a laser with his manic intensity.

John swallowed convulsively, the cold horror of his Faustian bargain settling into his gut like lead. He managed a curt nod to signal his agreement, and seal his fate.

* * *

It took another half an arn to work out the details of the deal John had struck to save them both, before Scorpius finally allowed the Marauder's medic to treat their wounds. Aeryn stood by, biting her tongue the entire time. She didn't want this any more than the human did; she wasn't a Peacekeeper anymore, not deep down, and it would be a struggle to pretend. Not to mention that, based on the looks of contempt and disgust she'd received from some of the commandos, the transition was not going to be an easy one no matter what story Scorpius told the crew.

Finally, Scorpius seemed satisfied. He turned to the commandos. "Officer Kobrin, Officer Velika, you will remain aboard the Leviathan. Please ensure that my prodigal soldiers here do not attempt to violate our agreement. I will send the Marauder to retrieve you and your charges when the carrier is ready."

"Aye, sir," the two commandos replied, although the male, Kobrin, looked disgruntled at the order.

Without another word to any of them, Scorpius swept away, the three remaining commandos following at his heels. Within microts, the landing bay doors were closed and they were alone again.

Well, almost.

"Frelling traitors," Kobrin muttered, loud enough to be heard by all. "Velika, stay with them. I'll lock down Command and then take charge of the Pilot." He stalked away without waiting for an acknowledgement.

The three left behind were silent for several long microts, until John finally broke the tension by typing in a jaunty, _::So, what's for breakfast?::_

Aeryn just rolled her eyes, while Velika looked puzzled. Mindful of her current shaky status, Aeryn looked at the young commando and spoke deferentially. "Center chamber?"

Velika nodded agreement, and the three of them marched out with Crichton leading the way. When they arrived, Velika set herself into a guarding stance outside the door. John looked like he wanted to say something, but Aeryn just shook her head and pulled him into the chamber. Velika was taking her duty seriously, and would not be moved from her position until they either left the chamber or Kobrin arrived to relieve her.

John collapsed onto one of the benches with a loud exhalation of exhaustion. He set the DRD he'd carried up from the hangar onto the table and leaned back on his elbows. Aeryn, not yet ready for the argument she needed to incite, moved over to the refrigeration unit and started putting together a First Meal for them both. By ship's time, there were still several arns left in the sleep cycle, but she knew that neither of them would be sleeping anytime soon.

As she walked over to the table with two clear plates of food, she saw John typing something. _::Just when I thought that I was out, they pull me back in.::_ He chuckled darkly at his own words, then leaned over and pounded his forehead lightly against the table.

She set the plate in front of him as she took her own seat on the opposite side of the table. When the constant thumping of head against table didn't stop, she finally reached out and grabbed John by the hair on the upswing. "Try not to damage your only bargaining tool," she quipped.

Rather than replying, John just buried his head in his hands.

Aeryn ate her food cubes while the human sulked, long since accustomed to the mood swings. After a few hundred microts, John finally pulled his hands away from his face and started typing a message. _::Are you okay with this?::_

She thought for a moment. "No."

John's face fell, becoming, if that were possible, even more miserable than before.

"I am not okay with returning to that life. I'm not a Peacekeeper anymore." Crichton looked ready to bolt out of the room, so Aeryn put her hand on his arm and smiled at him for the first time that morning. "However, I would be less 'okay' with the alternatives of being imprisoned or executed. You did the best you could with the situation we were in."

John smiled back weakly, clearly relieved.

Aeryn wiped the smile off her face and pointed a finger at him. "That does not mean, however, that things would not have gone better had I been part of the plan from the beginning. With two of us, we could have had the commando squad in a crossfire and bargained from a position of strength." She stood and braced her hands on the table, leaning over so that her face was less than half a motra from John's. "_So why the frell did you lock me in our quarters?_"

John cringed under the verbal assault, but reached out and hastily typed a reply. _::Two reasons, really. One for myself and one for you.::_

"What was the reason for you?"

_::Run, fight, surrender. Those were the only choices I could see. If we ran, he'd catch us. If we surrendered, then we were both dead, or worse. If we fought, we would lose. Best option I could see was to face Scorpy alone, and either take him out with me or at least ensure he wouldn't get what he wanted.::_

"The pulse pistol wasn't a bluff? You were really going to blow yourself up?" Grief now fought with her anger...she'd come so close to losing him.

_::I'd rather die than give Scorpius what he wants. I don't trust him with the power he is looking for.::  
_  
Now she was even more confused. "Then why--" She stopped when John started typing again.

_::I would give him anything rather than lose you.::  
_  
There was a long silence as Aeryn digested that. "So--" She cleared her throat, trying to relieve the sudden tightness there. "So how was your little plan supposed to help me?"

John typed slower this time, as if reluctant to say the words. _::I figured Scorpy thought you were dead. With me gone, or at worst captured, he'd have no reason to hunt for you. You'd have been free.::  
_  
"Free to do what? Live here, alone? Take up the Delvian Seek?" Aeryn jumped to her feet and turned to look out the window, as much to hide the dampness in her eyes as to bring her temper under control. "And what if you had been captured? I would probably have gotten myself--or both of us--killed trying to rescue you again. Do you think I'd just let you go so easily?"

John just gaped at her, speechless.

"Not to mention," Aeryn continued harshly, turning back to face him, "what would have happened if I'd been locked in a cell and Scorpius _had _decided to search the ship. Caged, with only my pulse pistol, I wouldn't have had a chance. Is that the fate you wished for me?"

Shock and shame rose in the human's pale eyes. The misery she'd briefly banished returned three-fold. John's hands started shaking and he blinked his eyes rapidly, refusing to meet her gaze as he seemed to collapse into himself.

"John," she said, grasping his arm entreatingly, "look at me." She had to repeat the request three times before he obeyed. "We're a team, remember? We face trouble together. If we run, we go together. If we fight, we fight together." She smiled, conveying her forgiveness wordlessly.

John nodded, his eyes clearing as he understood her. After a few microts, he smiled mischievously and typed, _::Also sleep together, shower together...::_

Aeryn chuckled. "Yes, well, that is something else that will be difficult with this arrangement. Close relationships are discouraged among Peacekeepers. We'll have to be...discreet."

The human frowned, obviously not having considered that particular problem. He picked up a food cube, finally, and gnawed on it absently. They ate together in silence for a time, each coming to terms with the aftermath of the morning's crisis.

Finally, when all the food was consumed, John typed another question to her, one she'd been waiting for him to ask. _::How did you get out of our quarters?::_

Officer Aeryn Sun smiled enigmatically and leaned back against the wall. Reaching into her sleeve, she pulled out a small utensil--a fork--and tapped it tauntingly against her nose.

The gales of laughter emanating from the center chamber eventually piqued Officer Velika's curiosity; Aeryn saw her glance into the room and watch, bemused, as the human laughed his frelling ass off.

After another arn of quiet conversation, Aeryn's anger was finally gone and they had both resigned themselves to the situation. Things had, Aeryn was forced to admit, turned out about as well as could be expected.

On their way out of the Center Chamber, Officer Velika pulled Aeryn quietly aside and, in a low voice, said, "I know what Kobrin said, and he won't be alone. But Lieutenant Dak told me what you told him before you left, about what Scorpius did to Officer Crichton and that tech. I may not agree with what you've done, but you're one of us again and I won't say another word about it."

Aeryn nodded a silent thanks. She wondered if Henta would be as forgiving, or Kranda, or her teammates. Even with the nominal support of people like Velika, this wasn't going to be easy.

* * *

_It's too damn cold here,_ John groused mentally as he pulled his uniform jacket tighter. Adorning the uniform was the Officer's rank insignia he'd worn less than a full solar day before fleeing Scorpius and getting captured, almost a cycle ago. It still amused him to see it there again.

Ahead of them, Scorpius strode across the snowy landscape without even a hint of discomfort. _Half Scarran, half penguin, that's what he is._ He snorted a quiet laugh at the mental image of that leather body suit with two short, webbed feet sticking out the bottom and a big yellow beak poking out of the face.

One of the guards prodded John to walk faster with the barrel of his pulse rifle, so he picked up the pace. John Crichton was cold, his nose was running, his feet were going numb, and he felt naked and helpless without his DRD companion. Or Aeryn. One had been left aboard the carrier for this little snowshoeing trip, and the other was still warm and dry in the pilot seat of their Marauder.

It had been three monens since he had struck that desperate deal with Scorpius on Moya, and most of that time had been spent trekking across vast reaches of space. For all their seeming isolation, the Royal Colonies had been practically next-door to the Peacekeepers compared to this frozen planet, almost to the edge of the Uncharted Territories and into areas too remote to even be named...and way too close to the Scarran Imperium for comfort. But more than just the mere distance, what had John intrigued were the faint traces he'd been sensing for the past few weekens as they traveled, just once in a while. They were faint, and John was sure he'd never felt anything like them before, but just as the faint smell of salt in the air could indicate an ocean nearby, John was sure these strange feelings were somehow connected to wormholes.

Not that he planned to say anything about that to Scorpius. Not unless he had to.

Finally, they reached an ice-encrusted structure, perched on top of a ledge over a deep crevasse. The doors slid open and the group hurried inside. John stamped his feet against the floor, shivering even harder now in the warm air and trying to return some feeling to his toes.

There was a long series of threats and counter-negotiations as Scorpius dealt with one of the most disgusting looking humanoid creatures John had so far encountered, with an unpronounceable, vowel-less name. In the end, it took one of Scorpius' commandos putting the creature in a choke-hold before a deal was struck and John was ushered into a surgical theater.

Tocot, the doctor--or Diagnosian, as this race was called--was both far more alien than his assistant, but also far more pleasant to deal with. Based on a side conversation John overheard, it seemed that Scorpius knew Tocot, as the Diagnosian was apparently the one responsible for the temperature regulation system that allowed the half-Scarran's hybrid physiology to remain functional. It didn't say much for the Tocot's taste in customers, John decided, but it did at least indicate a fair amount of skill.

The next two arns was a tedious, confusing process of scans, questions, testing, and high-pitched tut-tutting as the alien doctor looked over all the damage that had been done. When the alien finally put his mask back on and shut off the green light that protected him from infection, Scorpius stormed up onto the operating platform.

"Why have you done nothing?"

The assistant, being squeamish, had long since left the room. Tocot did his best to convey the problem on his own, in syntax almost as broken as John's.

"Damage...too great. Can't...fix. Need...replace...tissue."

A deep rumble echoed from somewhere inside Scorpius' chest. "You have several thousand donors in your collection to choose from. Pick one, and finish the job, or I will personally see your precious facility burned to the ground."

Crichton, still strapped securely down to the table, could make no move to protest, and the sounds issuing from his mouth were even less coherent than usual. Scorpius didn't even glance in his direction.

Tocot called in and consulted with his aide, in a rapid-fire conversation only half of which the rest of them could understand.

"No-no, Doc," Grunchlk finally protested, after a somewhat impatient exchange. "I'll take care of it, don't you worry. You want all three, or just one?" Tocot raised a single, long finger and the repulsive man left the room.

Half an arn later, John was getting stiff and cold lying on the hard surface, and various portions of his anatomy were going numb. Finally the doctor's assistant came grunting back into the room, wheeling a large, oblong container in front of him. Through the window on the front, John could just make out a mop of curly red hair on a motionless, humanoid figure. When the container was set down near the operating table, he could feel the cold radiating from it.

He wanted to ask who this person was. Was she dead? How did she get here? What was Tocot going to use her for? He'd heard the words 'replace tissue'...were they going to transplant something from this person into his brain? Was she human? He couldn't see her face.

John had to swallow hard to keep the bile from rising out of his throat. He tried once again to shout in protest, but too soon the green light was back on and John was told firmly, "Stay...still."

Helpless tears ran down across his temples and into his hair as John did as he was told. Fortunately, whatever purpose the frozen alien had, it was accomplished outside of John's field of vision.

What followed were arns of strange noises and odd sensations as Tocot messed about with his brain. Halfway through, he heard Scorpius tell the commandos who were still with him to return to the ship and prepare for departure. At least _he_ seemed confident in the outcome. Finally, in utter resignation, John just closed his eyes and let events unfold.

He must have dozed off, because the next thing John knew, Tocot was removing the restraint from across his forehead and gesturing for John to sit up. Slowly, shakily, he did so, raising a hand to the back of his skull where he knew the neural chip had once rested. His fingers found nothing but short hair and smooth skin, no sign of any surgery. He blinked up at Tocot in surprise.

"So, Crichton, what do you have to say for yourself?" Scorpius asked harshly as he approached.

Could he really talk now? Taking a deep breath, John tried to say exactly what was on his mind.

"B-b-buh-bugger off, Scorpy." Yes! After months of silence and stilted, mechanical conversations, he had his voice back. He turned to Tocot. "Th-thanks, Doc."

The alien bowed, then retreated from the room. John couldn't blame him; he didn't like being this close to Scorpius, either.

"You will show proper respect in the future, Crichton, or you will find my previous hospitality inviting by comparison. Officer Sun's life is still in my hands."

John stood, wavering a bit at first as the blood flow returned to areas long denied, then stepped down off the dais to meet the half-breed eye-to-eye. "I w-will f-follow your orders. I will s-s-salute you. I w-will even call you 'sir'. But respect is earned, and you c-can't coerce it with threats. I have what you want, S-Scorpius. Somewhere in this Swiss-cheese brain of mine is the answer to all of your p-perverted dreams. I would say you need to show _me_ some respect. Treat me as you would any other officer whose contributions you value. We need to work together, as much as I hate to think about it." His voice got stronger and more sure with every word he spoke.

Scorpius looked John up and down, his expression doubtful.

"Neither one of us can do this alone, S-Scorpy. Among my people, there is a philosophy known as 'the Golden Rule'. You treat me the way you want me to treat you, and I'll do the same. We don't have to like each other."

The half-breed was still looking at John as if he was a curious but potentially toxic bug, wary and disdainful. Finally he seemed to give up the attempt to comprehend and just shoved John toward the door. "We are leaving."

"Fine, fine, whatever." John caught his balance, grabbed his uniform jacket, and waved a hand in front of the door release

Instead of an empty corridor, however, the doors parted to reveal the hulking form of a Scarran soldier. The creature was startled for a moment and stared right back at John, then growled and started to raise his arm.

Backpedaling quickly, John waved his arm again wildly to close the door just as he slammed back into Scorpius' hard leather body suit. The two of them fell to the floor in a tangle, which fortunately meant that the Scarran's first pulse of heat went high and missed them. Scrambling to his feet, John turned to see the now-closed doors starting to radiate heat and smoke.

"Got a weapon?" he asked, voice pitched half an octave higher by the sudden stress.

"A pistol."

"Only works if you shove it down their throat and overload it. Trust me, I've got experience with these things."

Scorpius pulled out his comms and called for assistance from the marauder, still parked some distance away.

"They'll never get here in time," John pointed out, noting that the doors were starting to glow red. "Is there another way out of here?"

Scorpius continued snapping orders to the commandos, not moving from his place in the center of the room. John rolled his eyes and moved to the opposite wall where a promising alcove drew his eye. There was a small hatch in the ceiling, and a brief search led him to the controls.

The hatch slid open, letting in a blast of frigid air and stinging snow. John ducked away out of reflex, then glared balefully at the opening. Outside had not been his first choice of escape routes.

He glanced back at the doors, which were now starting to melt and warp. "Scorpy!" he yelled out, finally catching the half-breed's attention. He pointed to the doors, and then to his snowy escape route. "Freeze or fry?"

There was a creak and a snap as one of the doors tilted crazily off its track. The roar of the Scarran was now clearly audible.

It took less than three microts for Scorpius to climb the ladder and lever himself onto the icy surface. He reached back down to assist John just as the doors finally gave way and the Scarran crashed through into the operating theater. John, still somewhat weakened from the surgery, grabbed Scorpius' wrist and climbed the ladder with his assistance; a blast of heat washed over his boots as the half-breed pulled him clear.

The two unconventional Peacekeepers moved quickly away from the opening, but it took only a few microts for the Scarran to squeeze his larger form through the hatch.

"Head for the Marauder," Scorpius ordered, speaking loudly over the wind. "The longer we can evade the Scarran in these conditions, the weaker he will become."

"These 'conditions' ain't doin' me a whole hell of a lot of good, either, pal," John muttered, pulling his jacket tighter around his body.

They moved quickly across the snowy surface; in the distance, four black specks gave evidence that the commandos were on their way to assist, but they were still several hundred microts out.

John glanced back. "Aw, crap. Scorpy, he's gaining on us!"

Lumbering unevenly through the snow in their wake, clearly already suffering the effects of the cold, the Scarran still had enough of an advantage in sheer length of stride to be closing the distance between himself and his prey.

Scorpius grabbed John by the arm and pulled him along faster, heading across the narrow ledge that separated the Diagnosian's facility from the stable rocky plateau where ships like the marauder could land safely.

There was a roar from behind, seemingly right in John's ear, and suddenly he felt a thunderous impact against his back that threw him bodily into the cliff wall. He lay there, bruised and dazed, as the Scarran and the half-Scarran faced off.

Though stronger than a Sebacean, Scorpius' strength was still no match for his full-blooded opponent. Fortunately, what he lacked in sheer strength, Scorpius seemed to make up for with his greater agility and his environmental suit's resistance to the elements. The Scarran was clearly not happy with the temperature, as his movements grew slower and clumsier as time went on. The two went several rounds, with Scorpius apparently doing his best to keep the Scarran away from the human until he recovered.

As the stars faded from his vision, John sat up and struggled to his feet.

The half-breed glanced over, then summarily waved John away. "Go! Get to the ship!"

John shook his head. "Not gonna happen."

The Scarran watched this exchange. "Escape while you can, puny mammal. I am here only to retrieve what is ours, so we can dissect this failed experiment."

"Oh, shut up horse-face," John taunted, moving to the side so that the Scarran had to pivot to watch both of them. "You think you're so superior, but who's the one shivering in their boots here?"

Both Scorpius and the Scarran growled at his irreverence and disobedience, then focused on each other again and circled like a pair of tired boxers in the ring.

Crichton looked up at the overhanging cliff face and had an idea. "Scorpy!" The half-breed looked over, startled at the sudden distraction. "Pistol!" John held out his hand.

After only the briefest of confused delays, Scorpius yanked his pulse pistol from its holster and tossed it across the distance.

"You think to harm me with your pathetic toy, Peacekeeper slug?" the Scarran growled mockingly, turning once again to glare at Crichton.

"Nope," John assured him. He dove and rolled over onto his back against the cliff wall, then pegged three quick shots into the cornices of snow and ice overhanging the ledge.

Scorpius quickly understood John's intent and ducked down as well, sheltering as far from the edge as he could get. The Scarran, on the other hand, mind and reflexes slowed by the hated cold, stayed standing a few motras away, head tilted as far back as his spine would allow, trying to see what the human was shooting at. There was a crack, a rumble, and finally a roar as several tons of ice and snow slid down off the precipice above and fell onto the ledge where the three combatants huddled.

The frustrated, fearful howls of the Scarran were all but drowned out by the crash of the avalanche. The reptilian figure soon disappeared under the mass of snow and ice.

Even the inside wall, where John and Scorpius sheltered themselves, caught the outer edges of the falling debris. Before John could do more than curl in on himself and create an air pocket with his body, he was covered in white, which then rapidly faded into darkness as the pressure built up over him.

_Well, that has to go down as one of my better plans,_ John thought sarcastically as he started to struggle under the snow, trying to dig his way out.

The sudden darkness and silence was eerie. He could hear his own breathing and heartbeat loud in his ears, feel the cold and stinging shards of ice on all sides, tearing at his fingers as he scrabbled for daylight and air.

Time seemed to stretch into infinity and the air quickly grew stale inside the tiny pocket John inhabited. He was gasping, heart racing, fingers torn and bloody, when suddenly there was an explosive impact. A hand shot through the snow and ice and nearly blackened his eye. John blinked and squinted at the sudden light, staring stupidly at the black-gloved hand. The fingers flexed, reached, and then quickly grabbed John by the collar of his jacket and tore him bodily from his tiny tomb.

Bursting into open air, John flew several motras on sheer momentum before landing and sprawling on his back, bruised and gulping in fresh air on top of a nearby snowdrift.

"Are you injured, Crichton?"

He looked over at Scorpius, who appeared little the worse for wear despite clumps of snow clinging to crevices and seams in his cooling suit. "Nah," John managed to gasp out. "Just need to catch my breath. Thanks, by the way."

Scorpius didn't reply to that, but he was looking at John with an odd, startled expression, as if seeing something he had not expected.

John looked around, avoiding the strange, cold gaze. His little avalanche had effectively cut off their escape route in both directions, snow and ice piled up in treacherous, steep-sided drifts that looked more likely to pitch the unwary traveler into the chasm than to allow a safe traverse. Fortunately, there was no sign of the Scarran.

Scorpius had obviously noticed the same thing; within a few microts, he was on the comms. "Report, Lieutenant."

"Unable to reach your position on foot, sir. Recommend you bring in the Marauder for retrieval," replied the tinny voice on the other end.

Scorpius paused thoughtfully, frowning in irritation, but finally replied, "Agreed. Officer Sun?"

"Aye, sir." Hearing Aeryn's voice, even at a distance and over comms, made everything seem better.

"I trust your skills are still equal to this?"

"Of course, sir. I will pick you up in less than forty microts."

Scorpius clicked off the comms without any further comment.

John clambered painfully to his feet, having finally gotten his breath back, and stepped carefully over the uneven and slick surface toward Scorpius. They both stood as close to the edge as they dared, watching the Marauder draw closer.

* * *

Standing side by side, the human and the half-Scarran gazed out the view port at the muted glare of the flaring star. John Crichton had his fingers crossed as he counted down the microts. When his count reached four -- he still wasn't as good at accurately counting time in microts as he'd been in seconds -- a flare of searing blue flashed in the distance, making him blink until his eyes adjusted.

John kept his fingers crossed as he watched the wormhole swirl. This was the third one their research had managed to create, but the previous two had been unstable and had collapsed quickly.

"Report!" Scorpius snapped at the tech monitoring the experiment.

"Readings are holding steady, sir. No sign of deterioration."

"Yes," John cheered under his breath, pumping his hand slightly in surreptitious celebration.

Scorpius, clearly ecstatic as well, though far more self-contained, turned to the human. "Congratulations, Officer Crichton. You have exceeded my expectations."

John nodded acknowledgement, his elation fading. Sometimes, in the midst of the sheer, heady joy of discovery, for whole minutes at a time, he could forget who he was working for. He wondered, occasionally, if some of the scientists trying to develop an atomic bomb for Germany back during World War II had ever felt this way -- working to protect a people they loved, yet forced to serve a master they despised.

It had been just four monens since the ice planet, and the surgery that had restored his speech. Four monens since he and Aeryn had been thrown back into the lives they had thought they'd left behind.

Neither Crichton nor, apparently, Scorpius had expected the project to progress so fast. After cycles of frustrating and fruitless research for both of them, it had seemed impossible. But when John was finally presented with the data Scorpy had ripped from his brain via the neuro-chip, it had been like seeing notes from a long-past college class. He wasn't so much learning as being reminded of what his mind already knew. He'd been able to see where connections and vital pieces of data were missing, and understood almost instinctively how to fill in the gaps.

Success in this one endeavor, however, did not mean all of their problems were solved. The simple act of creating a stable wormhole had taken almost the entire available power resources of the Command Carrier, and holding it open used only slightly less. Using the entire ship's hull as a wave repeater meant that the carrier was highly vulnerable as long as the wormhole was open, reliant on the constant patrols by support vessels if anyone approached.

That was part of the reason they were out here in the middle of nowhere. Not only were they far from the Scarran frontier, they were away from any shipping lanes or populated worlds; a needle in the very large haystack known as the Uncharted Territories.

They might have been safer in Peacekeeper territory, but both John's and Scorpius' research had shown that the fabric of space-time there was far too stable. There were almost no variances to indicate even a potential for wormholes. The Uncharted Territories, however, lay between that area of calm and civilization, and the expanse of utter chaos labeled Tormented Space, where space-time was torn to shreds and swirled with wild energies. Creating wormholes in Tormented Space would be easy, but even Scorpius acknowledged that the strong probability of losing control and destroying themselves was not worth the reward. So they remained here, in between, balancing the two extremes in their attempt to harness a wild, cosmic power and tame it to their needs.

John glanced up as Lt. Braca entered the work area. Scorpius' second-in-command moved past Crichton without a glance in his direction, continuing his unspoken policy that the human was beneath his notice unless a reprimand was to be given.

Scorpius glanced at the message Braca delivered and voiced a low growl. "Braca," he snapped, "we must begin test flights into the wormhole immediately. Draw up a list of pilots."

"Aye, sir," the dark-haired sycophant agreed, then snapped a textbook turn and started to leave.

"Sir?" John addressed Scorpius, stepping forward into Braca's path. The lieutenant scowled in disgust, but paused rather than run him over.

"What is it, Crichton?"

"With all due respect, sir, I would suggest we need to duplicate this success in another location, to prove it wasn't just a fluke that it worked here."

Braca looked completely affronted that this lowly Officer, this _alien_, would dare contradict his commanding officer, but Scorpius just nodded. "I happen to agree, Crichton, and if circumstances allowed, I would indeed follow your suggestion. However, First Command grows impatient; we may have visitors soon. Therefore we need to show progress, and quickly."

John grimaced. Politics was the same on both sides of the galaxy, he'd discovered. "I withdraw my suggestion, then, sir," he replied, stepping back. Braca tilted his nose back and huffed triumphantly.

"I do value your ideas, _Senior_ Officer Crichton," Scorpius assured him. "More than I expected to."

John blinked at the casual promotion he had just received, speechless as Scorpius and the Lieutenant exited the lab.

_Oh, frell, how am I going to tell Aeryn?_

* * *

Officer Aeryn Sun moved confidently along the corridor, ignoring the glances and glares of those she passed. Reaching a small, dim alcove, she surreptitiously looked back down the way she'd come, to verify that no one was nearby, before slipping into the shadows and vanishing into the back passageways she'd first been shown by John's techs.

John was already waiting for her in the tiny storage cubicle. Not long after their return to the carrier, Crichton had had a few quiet words with the young tech, Pi J'hesta, who had passed the request up through the grapevine. This storage room was listed in the records as unused due to a malfunctioning locking mechanism, and the repair order was filed at the very bottom of the list, at the lowest priority. It was in a low security area and unmonitored, which meant that they could meet here in secret with little chance of getting caught.

Aeryn had a few microts to observe the human before he noticed her arrival. He was crouched in the corner, staring at nothing and twisting his uniform jacket nervously in his hands. She wondered at this oddly subdued behavior; word of Scorpius' successful creation of a wormhole had flown through the carrier arns ago. John should have been ecstatic.

After a moment, Crichton looked up and saw her. Just one look, and he winced. "Again?" he sighed sympathetically, scrambling to his feet. He moved toward her and gently brushed his fingers across her bruised cheek. "Who was it this time?"

She knocked his hand away impatiently. "No one of importance. Just another bunch of 'loyal' Peacekeepers, expressing their opinion of the traitor."

John let his hand drop and turned away, face contorted in remorse and anger. "I wish you didn't have to go through this."

She reached out and grasped his shoulder, spinning him back to face her. "It is not your fault, John. It was my choice to come back with you."

"I still wish you'd let me tell Scorpy. He could do something about this crap."

"Do you really think he would do anything? He only let me come back at all because you forced him to. He thinks me a traitor as much as the others do; why should he care if I am suffering because of my betrayal? Fortunately, not everyone believes that. Lt. Dak caught the ones who cornered me in the act this time and threw all three of them off the flight deck. Told them they'd be flying nothing but transport ships for the next cycle."

"Good for him. I'm glad you've got a few people on your side, at least. Wish Dak could do something about Kobrin; I just know that bastard is the source of all this."

"You know that, and I know that. Lt. Dak knows it, too, but Kobrin hasn't ever actually _done_ anything except look smug when I show up with a new bruise." Aeryn turned and leaned back against the wall with a thump, sliding down to sit on the floor. "Enough about my troubles. Why aren't you more excited? You've made a wormhole."

"_Scorpius_ has made a wormhole," John groused.

"You're upset that you won't get _credit?_ John, this is one step closer to getting you home."

"One step closer to Scorpy laying waste to the galaxy."

"You can't control that, John. You said yourself that he'd probably have figured it out without you, eventually. Focus on what this is getting you, not how it's helping that Scarran half-breed."

Crichton flushed and fidgeted slightly. "Well, what it's gotten me so far is a new decoration for my jacket." He turned the material in his hands to show her his new rank insignia, then winced at the expression that stole over Aeryn's face. "I don't like it any better than you, babe. The last promotion they handed me, after the battle at the Gammak base...I didn't mind that so much. I felt like maybe I'd done something to earn it. But this? This was just Scorpy's whim, a pat on the head for his newest pet."

Aeryn, however, was not annoyed for the reasons John seemed to think. "Did you have a promotion ceremony? Even an informal one like the one Lt. Dak held for you?"

John frowned, distracted. "No, Scorpy just called me "senior officer" and walked out. Braca sent a crewman down a while later with my new insignia."

Aeryn sighed and sat down facing the human. "John, I have wondered for the past few monens why you had not already been promoted. Scorpius has placed you in charge of a major research project, where you are directing resources from all across the convoy. That is a job for a lieutenant, but could be given to a senior officer if he were the only specialist available. A mere officer would never be given that much responsibility.

"Promotions above the rank of Officer require approval from First Command. Scorpius could not have just promoted you on a whim like that. I think he probably got approval to promote you when he first proposed the project, possibly even while we were still en route to the Diagnosian. He just chose not to inform you of it until you succeeded. That kept most of the control of the project in his hands rather than yours."

Crichton said nothing, just looked down at the uniform jacket in his hands, glaring at the polished new insignia with even more loathing than before.

Aeryn placed her hand on top of his, letting her arm obscure the glinting metal for a microt. "He withheld your rightful authority from you for as long as he could. He thinks, now that he has his wormhole, that you cannot do any harm with your true rank. But perhaps he is wrong. There may come a time when Scorpius will regret handing you even this much power."

John's expression softened slightly. "Maybe."

"For the moment, however," Aeryn purred, moving her hand slowly up John's arm, "perhaps I should congratulate you properly."

The human smiled and met her approaching lips with his own.

* * *

As Officer Aeryn Sun rounded the final corner of her team's Marauder, performing the exterior post-mission checks, she heard voices approaching and paused. Five monens of constant harassment had made her wary of facing groups of her fellow Peacekeepers without the presence of her team to back her up. They never attacked unless they had her outnumbered by at least three to one; they had at least that much respect for her combat skills.

The angry voices grew closer as Aeryn shifted back into the shadows.

"--nother pilot tomorrow! Today's mission was the tenth attempt, and none of the pilots have survived. That frelling Scor--"

"Shhh!" The hiss cut the first soldier off. "Not so loud!"

The first voice continued more quietly. "That frelling treznot, Scorpius, keeps sending them, even though the specialist in charge of the project has been arguing against it since the first one came back as a puddle."

"You could be executed for treason if anyone reported you, saying those kinds of things." This was a third voice, female this time.

Aeryn eased back a dench further; if she were seen now, they might kill her if they feared she'd turn them in.

"I'm surprised that specialist has lasted this long, given some of the things I'm told _he's_ called Scorpius."

"You know who he is, don't you?" the female pilot asked as the group continued further down the hangar bay.

"No, who?"

"Kobrin told me it's the same guy Sun was hiding out with for half a cycle. When she was supposedly on that 'secret assignment'."

"Traitor or not, I will admit Sun was right about Scorpius."

The voices faded once again, and Aeryn relaxed.

"You may have less trouble from now on."

Aeryn jumped and whirled, nearly pulling her weapon at the unexpected voice. Less than three motras behind her stood Lt. Dak, though how he'd sneaked up on her without being seen by the pilots was a mystery.

Dak smirked at her reaction. "Your friend Crichton seems to be earning himself more friends than just the techs these days. The increasing losses among the Prowler pilots are starting to be noticed. We pilots may accept that we will likely give our lives in service, but we still don't like seeing them thrown away as if we were nothing. Despite his lack of success, the others have seen Crichton at least trying to stop it."

"I doubt Officer Kobrin will see it that way," Aeryn noted tersely.

"No, but perhaps the others will start seeing his whining for what it is. He's just jealous that you always beat his scores."

Aeryn snorted, trying to hold in her laughter. Despite his many more cycles of experience, Kobrin had been losing the points battle to her since she'd left commando training, taking the lead only during the few monens when she was presumed dead.

Any further conversation, however, was interrupted by the alert sirens and the announcement of an arriving flag officer, requiring all available personnel to report for the honor guard at debarkation. Both commandos headed off, straightening their uniforms as they went.

* * *

Senior Officer John Crichton stood at the observation window, seething. In moments, the carrier's auto-retrieval systems would deliver yet another liquefied pilot entombed in his flying coffin. The techs and fellow pilots standing below, awaiting its arrival, were somber and resigned...much as the pilot himself had looked before setting out on his last mission.

John glanced over at the other officers standing nearby. Scorpius was exuding a forced, cheerful confidence, quite different from his typical menacing scowl. The reason for his false bravado was the female flag officer standing next to him. Commandant Mele-on Grayza -- in appearance, no one could be more un-like the admiral John had dealt with nearly two cycles ago, but her attitude and bearing were much the same. She had arrived aboard earlier in the day, her low-cut attire drawing the eye of every male she encountered. She was accompanied by a platoon of blank-faced guards and a number of representatives from various alien races. The Luxan was the only one whose species John recognized.

As the alarms started to sound and lights flashed, announcing the arrival of the unresponsive Prowler, John glanced at the third figure, standing just behind and to one side of Scorpius. Lt. Braca, Scorpy's second-in-command, flunky, and eternal yes-man, looked up at the same moment and met John's eyes. The human was shocked to see the same pain and resignation he was feeling reflected in Braca's face, as well as a hint of something that might have been called...respect?

John blinked. That was...different. Braca, in the past, had never shown Crichton anything but contempt, thought whether that was due to John's non-Sebacean heritage or his lack of respect for Scorpius' authority, John wasn't sure. Why now?

Then he remembered. Lt. Braca was also a Prowler jockey, though exempt from the usual patrol rotations. He had, in fact, led the Prowler squadrons in the battle with the Scarran Dreadnought, back when he was third-in-command to Captain Crais.

Crichton turned away from the lieutenant and returned his gaze to the Prowler, now rolling to a stop outside the window. He swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in anticipation of the scene which was soon to play out for the eleventh time, and closed his eyes so he didn't have to watch the viscous red liquid flow out of the cockpit. He heard the commandant make a breathy exhalation at the sight.

"Clearly, Scorpius," the woman began condescendingly, "this Gammak project of yours gives us no advantage against the Scarrans, either in battle or at the negotiating table. All it serves to do is provoke the Scarrans into ever more belligerent posturings."

The half-Scarran growled. "Negotiating is suicide, Commandant. My project will give us the strength--"

"Senior Officer Crichton," Grayza turned to Crichton, cutting Scorpius off, "you are the chief researcher for this project, yes?"

John nodded respectfully. "I am, Commandant."

"You seemed to expect the outcome we just witnessed from this test. Do you not share Scorpius' confidence in your own project?"

John glanced at Scorpius, who glared threateningly, then back at woman in her strangely revealing outfit. "Permission to speak freely, ma'am?"

"Of course."

"This project, as currently designed, is not practical. Holding the wormhole open requires nearly all the power of this command carrier, leaving the ship vulnerable. I believe that the pilots are being killed by the rantath flux radiation found inside the unstable wormhole. We would normally be able to develop shielding for this, but I believe the materials and shape of the Prowlers' design act to focus the radiation into the cockpit, making even the miniscule dose that leaks through the shielding lethal."

Scorpius stepped forward. "There is no evidence that the ships have anything to do with these unfortunate incidents."

"No evidence you're willing to look at, anyway. I happen to know that the techs have sent you half a dozen reports on their testing."

Scorpius scoffed. "I read the reports. They were far from conclusive."

John felt his temper rising. He had argued and begged and bargained for days on end, trying to make Scorpius slow down his insane rush to find the perfect weapon, urging unmanned testing, robotic probes, anything to halt the rising body count. He had watched eleven men and women step into their fighters and fly out into the wormhole, to return as just so many gallons of organic waste. He had suspected the Prowlers' design for nearly a weeken now, and the techs had been studying his old Farscape module in the next bay over to test his theory. He'd had enough.

"Fine!" he shouted, stepping up into Scorpius' face. "You want evidence? I'll get you your damn evidence!" He stormed out onto the flight deck, ignoring Scorpius' shouted orders to stop. Not even bothering with a flight suit or helmet, he shooed the techs away from his module and climbed in. Scorpius and Grayza caught up to him as he sped through the pre-flight checks.

"Crichton, cease this idiocy!" the Scarran half-breed bellowed.

"Sorry, Leatherface, no can do." John pulled the canopy down and fired the Farscape's engines, just as Scorpius reached the ship and attempted to stop him. With a taunting little wave, John pushed the throttle forward and shot out of the bay, leaving Scorpius sprawling on the deck in a most undignified position.

Without another look back, Crichton pushed the module into the air and out through the bay doors into space. For just a moment, he leaned back and gazed around him; this was his first solo flight in nearly a full cycle, and he wanted to savor the moment. Then, as the radio crackled and exploded with shouting voices, he shook himself and veered the ship into the mouth of the wormhole.

Hopefully, if he survived this trip, it would prove to Scorpius that his project was flawed. Hopefully, it would save lives in the future.

And if he didn't survive...well, all of his notes were in English. Scorpius would have to start over almost from scratch.

The roller-coaster ride of the wormhole was an experience he wasn't likely to forget, though it was different this time as he was in control of the ship. There were odd feelings in his head as he flew down the glowing silver-blue tunnels. For the first time, he noticed that the wormhole had branches and forks, and wasn't just a featureless corridor. He could sense almost magnetic attractions to some of the turnings, but didn't follow any of them for fear of getting lost.

Suddenly, the ship began to spin more wildly, veering off course despite all of his efforts. Faster and faster he spun, until his vision grayed out into blackness.

When he woke, John was lying on his back, outside the module. He rolled to his feet and looked around. He was standing on...ice?

"Hmm. Kansas...in winter."

It was an iceberg floating in an ocean of black. It wasn't cold, nor warm. The silence was absolute. He moved to the edge, peering over into the darkness of infinity. Then, from behind him, came a familiar voice.

"Hello, John."

TBC...


End file.
